Collections
by calypcso
Summary: A collection of all my short tumblr prompts. Content varies, but currently mostly Rowaelin. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Prompt: **Rowan taking Aelin to a lake in the woods and them teasing each other and laughing and then woah are they making out? Oh golly would you look at that now they're making out. Those crazy kids. (via anon)**

 **...**

"You know," Aelin muttered as she skirted around a rather large rock, a silk cloth covering her eyes, "there are far easier ways for an impromptu training session. I don't particularly like trekking through the forest blind."

Rowan chuckled, his breath warm against her neck. "What would be the fun in that?" The small hairs at the back of her neck prickled with his nearness, and she very nearly shivered.

"You're not going to feed me to some lake creature, are you?" she inquired warily, "because that will certainly dampen my plans to be crowned queen."

He clucked, "The poor creature will probably spit you out immediately considering how sour you are." Aelin scowled, making sure to step extra hard on his foot.

She sensed something in front of her a moment too late in her distraction but there was the slightest pressure on her waist, and Aelin awkwardly sidestepped the fallen log.

Rowan poked her. "Pay attention."

"I am," she complained. To you, she added silently. She was infinitely glad her eyes were covered. At least he couldn't read her thoughts. Aelin didn't know if he would be angry or disgusted. "Stop distracting me."

He pinched her, and Aelin knew he was frowning again. "Do you ever stop glowering? Chaol and Aedion are afraid of you as it is." She spun swiftly, but Rowan barely missed a step. They were close now, she could feel the heat of him and hear the drumming beat of his heart and… he didn't seem to be breathing. She cocked her head to the side, ears straining… but, nope.  
"Are you–" she began, then stopped.

Aelin could sense the predatory intent on him and it set her pulse on edge. "Are we hunting?"

"No," he said and Aelin relaxed, "but there seems to be an awful lot of Little Folk watching us." She smiled slightly, and Rowan sighed. "What–"

The Little Folk that had followed them converged on him in a wave. Aelin could hear his yelps as he was dragged under a sea of minuscule bodies. "Princess," she heard the growl. Laughing, she ripped the blindfold off and ran.

Aelin couldn't hear him–Rowan was too skilled for that– but as the forest quieted as if it were holding its breath, she wondered what madness had convinced her angering a centuries old Fae warrior had been a good idea.

She glanced right and left. He was not in sight either, but the pine and snow scent of him was near and the low threatening buzz of storm winds made the short hairs on her arms prickle with delicious anticipation.

The princess darted forward the moment he lunged, his broad hand grazing a path down her spine as she hurled herself around another tree. Panting, he regarded her with slitted green eyes. "You won't get away with this," he promised, smiling with eerie calm.

Aelin raised placating hands. "It was a joke–" but Rowan pounced and she rolled away. "I thought you were supposed to protect me," she said, after she had gotten her breath back, still edging away from the warrior who seemed to be able to prowl closer and closer without moving.

"You ordered them to attack," he murmured, the softness to his tone much more menacing than his usual growls, and Aelin wondered if the heat had made her hallucinate the bedroom eyes he was currently employing to pin her to the spot. She blinked, and it was gone. Yup, she had definitely imagined it. "Since you clearly threw me to the wolves, I don't see how you need me to be your protector."

The princess took a step back, but the dirt collapsed from under her feet and she had only a second to contemplate her imminent death and the horrified look on Rowan's face as he reached for her before she was sucked into the darkness.

It was barely a second of freefalling before a hard body encased hers and they thumped unceremoniously to the ground. Aelin was on top of him and at the moment it seemed the most hilarious thing in the world, to be alive.

Rowan did not laugh with her and he seemed to grow almost angry as she chuckled. He flipped her, so his body pinned her to the dirt. "Are you crazy?" he breathed, his face too close for her to avoid the naughty, naughty thoughts that came to mind. Aelin knew he could read everything on her face, but she was past embarrassment so she decided she might as well throw caution to the wind.

Her lip pressed into his, a soft feather light touch, barely anything. Rowan's hands tightened on her wrists, his green eyes burning bright in their dim surroundings, but did not respond.

Aelin hadn't expected her feelings to be returned– after all, he already had a mate– but it didn't stop her heart from clenching around her throat like a vise. She dropped her gaze, ashamed. "Sorry," she muttered. _Not sorry, not sorry, not sorry._

Rowan was still, so still Aelin wondered if he had died from shock and revulsion, but when she peeked up at him, he was still staring at her, unreadable. She had struck him speechless. Aelin wanted to laugh, but she was afraid it would sound more like a sob.

Sighing, she rolled to her feet. They were in an underground lake of sorts, not unlike the one below Bald Mountain. Glow-worms shed twinkling lights and they were arranged perfectly into the constellations. How…

The Little Folk. Of course. She shook her head with a rueful grin. They had probably planned all of it.

"Aelin…"

She stiffened as he came up behind her, but when Rowan reached for her, Aelin flinched. "Don't." Her voice was cool, indifferent. She could hear him swallow and hated herself for being so attuned to him.

Aelin dove into the lake, to clear her mind. It was warmer than she expected as she surfaced with a gasp. Rowan cut a dark silhouette against the light of the glow-worms and his fists were clenched at his sides. He took a step towards her, but she dove under again if just to avoid him longer.

She sat on the silt at a shallower end. The water stirred above her head and she tilted her head back, letting the water drain the tension away from her muscles.

A strong hand clamped around her arm and dragged her to the surface. Aelin shook him off with a thrash. "What are you doing?" she snapped, around gasps of air.

"If you knew how long you were down there you would not fault me for worrying," Rowan snapped back, his tanned face drawn. He gripped her shoulders, hard. "What is wrong with you? Is it because…" he trailed off as Aelin gazed at him steadily.

"Because of what?" she asked frigidly. "Because I threw myself at you?"

His shoulders hunched. "You don't need this distraction right now. You need to concentrate on your training–"

Aelin cut him off with a sharp little laugh. "I know what I need, Rowan, and I need you."

"You have me," he said quietly.

She cocked her head. "Do I? I couldn't have read this so wrong. Tell me you don't love me. Tell me Lyria is the only one in your heart." He said nothing.

Aelin moved away. In a flash, Rowan was in front of her again. His lips found hers and suddenly even without the water, she was drowning. Her legs went around his hips as Rowan pressed her against the wall, all teeth and tongue, madness and fury.

His canines grazed her throat, her breath hitched and Rowan paused a moment, his harsh breaths fanning against the sensitive skin below her jaw. He pressed a soft kiss to the place where her neck met her shoulders.

Aelin murmured his name and she thought she was prepared for it, but when his teeth pierce her throat and the last barrier between them was broken, there was nothing but a soft golden light and then she was floating across an expanse of velvety clouds bearing her up, up, up. _Mine_ , the teeth said. _Mine, mine, mine._

Rowan shuddered against her. "Not possible," he breathed. But the truth was plain and the rope that bound their souls together glowed against their skin. He stared at her as if she was his air, and salvation and then they were kissing again, this time soft and slow. As if they had all the time in the world.

Aelin twinned her fingers into his hair as they breathed and explored, each movement a dance. _Together_ , each reverent motion said to the world. _Together_.

Above them, the Little Folk gathered, crowding in around the trap they had constructed, clapping excitedly as they chattered in a childlike coos and babbles. There was a flutter of wings and a shooing motion and a netting of soft leaves were placed over the mouth of the hole.

 _Mated_ , they said.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompt: **Rowan smiles ever so slightly whenever he sees Aelin. Rowan is SUPER pissed at Chaol whenever he meets him. (via aelin-galathynius)  
**

 **...**

"I don't like him," Chaol said with a scowl.

Aedion, helping himself to a mountain of mashed potatoes, grimaced. "Join the club, captain."

Dorian paused, a fork poised halfway to his mouth. "Rowan isn't that bad." They both gave him incredulous looks and the prince made a wry face. "Well, he could be a lot nicer, I suppose. But he's protective of Aelin and I can respect that."

"That's because you are his student," Aedion said. "And Aelin is plenty kind to you." There was a barely concealed edge to his tone. "He only tolerates me because I'm Aelin's cousin and from the way he looks at the captain, I don't doubt the Fae bastard would tear him to pieces if she let him."

Chaol glowered, but didn't refute it Rowan's ability to kill him. There all knew who was higher on the food chain.

"Well, I think it's sweet," Dorian said stubbornly, lifting his chin, "the way he looks at her."

A muscle along Chaol's jaw feathered. "I think you meant disturbing."

"You know what _I_ think is disturbing?" inquired a familiar, lilting voice behind them. "Talking about me behind my back."

A red stain creeping up his neck, Chaol went to examine the lace tablecloth with ferocious absorption.

"He was not talking about you," Dorian soothed, trying to smooth things over, "just your esteemed second."

"To spread falsehoods about me and mine is to invite trouble," Aelin said with quiet intensity, as she swung gracefully onto a chair and helped herself to a plate. "I thought you men would have better things to do than to gossip like old ladies, but clearly I am mistaken."

They all winced.

She pinned Chaol with a fierce stare. "Perhaps you would like to join the courtesans today at their afternoon tea?" It wasn't a question, but a command. "I'm sure they would _love_ to have you. Maybe they will teach you a few things about keeping your mouth shut."

Aedion had to admire the captain for doing just that–keeping his mouth shut as he took the verbal beating.

Courtesans. A fancy way to say Aelin's personal spies. Aedion hated all of them. He loathed the way they clung to him like burrs and slowly drove him insane with their strong perfumes. And he just couldn't stand how they could sit around in a room and talk about everything and nothing all at once; a cunningly slipped barb here and there, some careful manipulation, a secret smile, the flutter of a fan could mean life or death. They did just that to get their oh so _valuable_ information.

To spend a day with them was Aelin's way of punishing them and a nicely packaged one.

"Of course," Chaol grated out. "It would be my pleasure to accompany them."

Aelin flashed him a smile. "Many thanks." She turned to Aedion and he stilled. Aelin regarded him from beneath lowered brows, but she must have decided to take pity on him today, because she said, "I'm meeting a few friends from the Red Desert after breakfast."

Aedion nodded. "I will make the necessary preparations."

She patted his arm. "Thank you, cousin. I appreciate it." Her eyes twinkled at him merrily, and he let out a sigh of relief. He was forgiven.

Chaol sulked in his chair and Aelin clucked. "Don't look so glum, captain. It's as if you don't want to spend the day with a group of pretty ladies." Chaol glared into his tea as Dorian stifled a laugh.

"Where is your shadow?" Aedion asked.

"Coming," was her only response as she inhaled her morning meal.

The general stiffened as the brisk chill of magic drifted into the room. Clenching his jaw, Aedion held his fork in a white-knuckled grip. Rowan strode into the dining room, his displeasure clear as he slammed himself into the chair beside Aelin.

"I thought the servants threw out the trash yesterday," the Fae warrior remarked coldly as he scanned the table as if he was walking into a battleground.

Chaol's fist closed around a butter knife, but at Dorian's pointed look, put it down.

"Rowan," Aelin's warning growl barely fazed him. "What did I tell you?"

"You certainly didn't tell me you were dining with _him_ today," Rowan said.

Aelin gave him a pitiful look. "But I wanted to have breakfast with my friends today."

The warrior snorted. "Friends. Right."

"Rowan Whitethorn!"

They glared each other down, and everyone prepared to bolt at any sign the two would come to blows. Their duels were near legendary.

Finally, Rowan acquiesced and turned to Dorian. "We are in the third training room today."

Dorian nodded. As if that was proof he could be civilized, Rowan shot Aelin a dirty look. She merely smiled triumphantly. Rowan, never being able to stay angry at his queen for long, sighed and gave her the slightest smile. That in itself was a miracle.

Rowan usually remained expressionless... until he was angry that is. In that case, you definitely knew about it. Aedion didn't think Rowan was ever truly happy unless he was by Aelin's side. Aedion didn't know how he felt about that.

He watched with narrowed eyes as Aelin gave Rowan a cheeky grin and... gods, if Aedion didn't know better, he would have thought the Fae warrior was pouting back.

He blinked as Rowan arched an eyebrow at him. "Is there a problem?" Damn, he'd caught him staring at him.

"Nothing," Aedion said steadily. "But I would appreciate it if you would stop touching my cousin, or looking as if you want to undress her."

Dorian whistled low as Aelin choked on her eggs and spluttered a cough. Chaol's chair scraped back and he stalked from the room but Rowan only cocked his head and lifted his hand intertwined with Aelin's.

"Jealous?" the warrior asked smugly.

Aedion opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Struck speechless, huh," Rowan purred. Aedion fisted his hands, itching to take a swing at him.

"Rowan," Aelin's voice was chilled. "Get out of here. I don't want this place to break out into a stupid brawl because you can't keep your mouth shut. Maybe I should send you over to Lysandra's group with Chaol. "

The Fae warrior merely huffed, knowing it was an empty threat. Aelin would never do that to her _oh so precious warrior_. Rowan rose, bending in one quick movement to kiss her thoroughly before moving away.

He gave Aedion an arrogant wink before sauntering out. "Dammit," Aelin cursed, covering her blush. Dorian was still laughing as Aelin hurried after him.


	3. Chapter 3

Prompt: **When Rowan comes to Adarlan, Aelin pretends that they're a thing to make Aedion jealous, and Rowan acts all pouty and says he doesn't want to but grudgingly does it because he wants to make Aelin happy. (via aelin-is-fire)**

 **...**

"Please," she begged, "I know you'll love it."

Rowan crossed his arms, muscles rippling under his tunic. "No," he said flatly. Aelin sidled up to him, her blue-gold eyes wide and pleading.

"It'll be so fun. Just think of their reactions!" She jutted out her lip and widened her eyes more, giving him a puppy dog look.

Rowan looked away, assuming a bored expression, even as his heart clenched. Dammit, no one should be that convincing. She tugged at his arm again, as if she knew his stance was crumbling. Blowing out a breath, Rowan nodded. "If it makes you happy."

She gave a girlish giggle and pecked him on the cheek. It left a blazing mark of heat. Was it her magic that caused her body to feel so warm? "I love you so much."

Rowan shot her a baleful glare, rubbing at the place she had kissed him. The heat wasn't fading. "You better. No one in their right mind would put up with your antics."

Aelin laughed. "You put up with me because you love me too, don't deny it." He could feel himself paling. Rowan couldn't tell if she was joking. She cocked an eyebrow. "The horrified look on your face does nothing for my ego."

He snorted. "You don't need me to inflate your ego. It's big enough to fill up this entire room."

Aelin smiled, her sharp eyes inspecting him for injuries for the umpteenth time. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispered. "I've missed you."

The door burst open, and a powerfully built man strode in. "Aelin–" he stopped. Rowan gave him a onceover, his chin propped on Aelin's shoulders. So this was her cousin. It was unmistakable, with his gold hair and Ashryver eyes.

Aedion didn't say anything for a moment, but his scent of pure fury punched Rowan in the gut. He stabbed an enraged, shaking finger in his direction. "Who is that on your bed?"

Aelin gave Aedion a lazy grin. "This, my dear cousin, is Rowan. Aren't you glad to meet him?" Rowan watched with amusement as the man swallowed back his next words.

"Oh," he said faintly, a line of colour painting his face a ruddy red. "The same Rowan you've been going on and on about for weeks?"

Aelin tossed Rowan a grin as she swung her legs down from the bed. "The one and only."

Aedion was still simmering. "He couldn't have entered through the front door?"

"Yes, Aedion," Aelin said scathingly, "like that would have gone over so well with the servants." She gestured to his ears and the tattoo. "Rowan is just that inconspicuous."

"He is in your bedchamber," he growled. "I'm pretty sure there is a law against males going into a queen's rooms unannounced."

Aelin raised an eyebrow slowly, and looked him up and down. "You mean what you just so kindly demonstrated?"

Rowan didn't think Aedion could look any more mortified. "I'm your cousin," he snapped. "I'm hardly going to..." He trailed off, coughing awkwardly.

Entertained, Aelin rubbed her chin. "Yes, please continue, and dig yourself into a deeper hole."

Aedion released a long-suffering sigh. "Aelin, we can find him another room. He can't stay in here. What will the others say?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "Like, I've ever cared what the court thought. Besides, I'm used to it."

He froze. "You are what?" Aedion barked.

Aelin's eyes widened innocently. "I'm used to Rowan in my room. He sleeps on the right side. It's so relaxing." Rowan dutifully played his part, coming to wrap his arms around her waist, shooting Aedion a cool, triumphant smile.

If Aedion had any hint of Aelin's magic, Rowan was sure he would be an ashy smear on the carpets by now. "You, out," Aedion snarled, jerking his thumb at the door. "I have something to discuss with Aelin."

"There are no secrets between us," Rowan drawled, his fingers tracing circles on the slip of exposed skin at her naval. Aedion noted the movement and his lips tightened. Rowan smirked as he met his gaze. "I make it my business to know what is going on, especially when it concerns Fireheart."

"You have no right to call her that," Aedion hissed. He shifted to appeal to Aelin. "Get him out."

"Anything you want to say to me, you can say to him," Aelin said calmly.

"I have nothing to say to him."

"Then show yourself to the door and don't bother coming back until you can apologize civilly to Rowan. Actually, scratch that, don't bother coming back for at least two hours. I'll be busy." She turned and gave Rowan a salacious wink.

He laughed. "Yes, quite busy. I'll be able to help her, Aedion. Don't you worry about that."

The door slammed hard enough to crack the foundations of the house.


	4. Chapter 4

Prompt: **Rowan and Aelin are fixing up Mistward, and they're working on reprinting a room, but it ends up in a paint war and they get nothing done. (via aelin-is-fire)**

 **...**

Rowan chuckled as he pointed a dripping paintbrush at her. "You have something on your cheek."

Aelin's hands flew to her face. "What? Where?" she demanded. She grimaced as her fingers smeared a brown drop of paint. "Gods above, this is disgusting. I am in desperate need of a bath."

Aelin looked down at herself, cringing at the paint splattered, formless smock Emrys had forced over head. It was the most hideous thing she'd ever seen. She might be staying in Mistward for a while before going back to Adarlan, but it was no excuse for her unkempt appearance. _And the state of her nails_. Gods, she looked like a barbarian.

"Don't bother," Rowan drawled, as Aelin attempted to smooth her hair with her fingers, "you'll just get paint in there. It'll be hell to clean out."

She flipped her hair over her shoulder in a single gleaming wave and glanced at his long silver hair. "Talking from experience?"

"I just don't want you to make me wash your hair later." He shuddered. "I'll never hear the end of it."

"Who's going to know? We could be doing all kinds of naughty things in the tub and nobody would care less."

His brows shot up. "Talking from experience?" Rowan needled, throwing her words back at her.

Aelin flipped her hair with a toss of her head and gave him a coy smile. "Yes, actually."

Rowan flicked paint at her, a pained expression crossing his face. "That's an image I rather not have in my head. Please don't talk about it."

She snorted, flinging her own paint at him. "You didn't actually believe me did you?"

"I'm never sure what's truth when it comes to you," Rowan said, pine green eyes glowing. He hesitated, as if torn, then, "Sometimes I'm not even sure if you are real, if I'm truly free of her. These days feel more of a dream."

"Well," Aelin started, painting another strip of the wall, "at least you didn't say it was a nightmare."

He huffed, crossing the room. Rowan joined her and they both stared at the spot she had painted.

"It's a bit splotchy," Rowan offered.

Aelin scowled, her hands clenching on the brush. "I'm an _assassin_ , not some court painter."

"I think you meant queen."

She shrugged, uncomfortable at the reminder, and gave his side of the room a pointed look. "You are not doing much better than me, you know."

Rowan glanced back, offended. "What are you talking about? It's perfect."

Aelin casually dipped her brush in a bucket of red paint. "Perfectly hideous, I would say," she commented.

He threw his hands up. "Says the girl who can't paint to save her life."

"So I'm back to being addressed as girl?" she asked.

Rowan bowed mockingly, a wickedly smile on his lips. "Perhaps you would prefer 'Your Majesty'?"

Aelin lowered her lashes and stepped closer, the red dipped brush dripping traitorously behind her back. "That depends," she purred. "Are you going to listen to my every demand?"

He stilled, the mood shifting into something warmer, friskier. Rowan narrowed his eyes, as Aelin took another step. "Personally, I prefer Aelin," he said at last.

"Hmm," she murmured, pressing a fingertip into his chest. Aelin almost laughed as he backed away from her advance. "I think I prefer that too. " She reached up with a hand to trace his tattoo, and he eyed her like he would one of Maeve's wild wolves. Aelin didn't know whether she should be pleased or insulted.

"But I seemed to have been able to fix your tattoos pretty well, so my artistic skills can't be that bad." She grinned up at him. "But you know what would make it better?"

He growled at her. "Aelin–"

She slashed a mark of red across his face. "Practicing on you."

Aelin skittered away before his arms could close around her body and was across the room in a second. She triumphantly waved her paintbrush like a flag.

His eyes flashed dangerously, a broad hand swiping at the paint on his face. The red smeared over his lips like blood. Rowan's tattoo scrunched as he snarled with relish, "This means war."

She gave a him a slow wink. "Come and get me then."

He prowled forward. "You will pay," Rowan said softly, the low menacing hum of it settling low in her stomach, a spike of heat that sent a responding flush to her neck. She knew the feral smile spreading over her face would only invite trouble, but she welcomed the change as she lifted her hands.

"What are you waiting for then, ice prince? Scared to get a little," she lowered her voice a smidge, " _dirty_?"

Eyes gleaming at the challenge, Rowan bared his teeth into a grin. "I play to win, princess, and I've been winning for far longer you have been alive."

"You're pulling the age card?" Aelin drawled, examining her nails. She was aware of every shift and ripple of muscle as he tried to intimidate her into showing her hand. Aelin snorted. As if she would give up that easily. "If I didn't know better, I would say you were desperate, Rowan." She clucked, "It does not suit you."

"You won't be saying that when I dunk your head into a tin of blue paint." he said pleasantly. "Your face will be stained blue for the rest of your stay."

Aelin smirked. "I'll have to make sure that doesn't happen then."

They both glanced at the paint pots at the same time. She was closer to them, but Rowan was faster. Keeping an eye on him, Aelin held her paintbrush like a dagger and edged toward the table. He could push her into the paint, however, and getting paint all over herself was not part of the plan.

She stopped and pivoted to face him. Rowan smiled knowingly. He knew she would go to arm herself, but the point was to do the unexpected. That was the way to victory. Dropping his gaze, she eyed the stone floor... and smiled.

Aelin had to be quick. Lifting her eyes to Rowan, she cocked her head and said simply. "I always win." With that she hurled her brush at him. Aelin didn't bother looking to see if he had dodged it. She slid under the table to the other side and gripped the edge.

Rowan slid to a stop a few feet away. "Don't," he warned.

Her grin widened. "Yield."

He narrowed his eyes. "Never."

"Don't mind me then," she sang with a shrug, and made to flip the table. Rowan shot forward the last few steps, hands out to right the paint stand, but skidded, arms wind-milling enthusiastically. His face a mask of disbelief, Rowan fell flat on his back.

The red paint Aelin had dripped on the floor soaked into his trousers. She crouched over him, a pot of blue paint upheld. "I told you I always win," she purred.

Rowan propped his head on his arms, making no move to get up. "I would be so sure about that," he murmured looking up at her, eyes half-lidded.

Aelin wavered. "What–"

The table collapsed.

All of Mistward heard the resulting scream.


	5. Chapter 5

Prompt: **Aelin being pregnant with Rowan's child. (via anon)**

 **...**

It was a mistake, he had told her. He was the one who watched, did nothing as the light in her eyes faded, as her brilliant smile wavered and became stony cold.

Aelin didn't cry and Rowan felt a strange sort of pride for his queen. She had merely nodded and looked away. Aedion will stand guard tonight, she said distantly. You are not needed.

It didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't matter when she pushed him away, day after day, month after month. She will forgive you eventually, he consoled himself. Aelin will find another male. One who would treat her like his everything. One who was actually deserving of her love.

It was a mistake, he had thought the morning after. The best worst mistake he had ever made. For one night he had allowed himself dream, one night he had allowed himself to let go.

But warriors didn't dream, they lived on the battlefields. They lived in reality.

Aelin's chilled words frosted his skin. "You are dismissed, Rowan."

She wasn't looking at him. She hardly did anymore. Nothing but fleeting glances that told Rowan nothing of her thoughts.

Presently, Aelin's cheeks were flushed, sweat beading on her brow. Her hands wrung together over her stomach as a green tint spread over her delicate features. Rowan stepped closer, with a frown. Was she ill again?

Aedion placed a supporting hand on Aelin's back, his mouth tightening with worry. "Is the– are you alright?"

Rowan's fists clenched. What right did he have to touch her? "Aelin–"

"I said," she muttered through gritted teeth, "you are dismissed."

He ignored the twisting reaction in his gut and bowed low. "My queen."

Rowan straightened and strode away, each step taking him farther and farther away from her. By now he should be used to the hollow feeling in chest as the chasm between them yawned, but it only ached more each day.

"You won't be able to hid it so easily soon," he heard Aedion murmur. "It's almost been nearly three months now." Rowan ducked into a shadowed alcove as they decided he was far away enough and started to converse in low tones.

Aelin's chin jerked up, eyes blazing. "Then I'll hid it till I can't anymore." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I wrote to Dorian. He said he will take me in until it's over."

Aedion threw his hands up. "You make it sound so easy. So you make an excuse to stay in Rifthold for a few months. What about after? You have to come back."

Her hands tightened around herself. "I'll deal with it when it comes."

"When are you going to tell him?" her cousin demanded. "He has to know. Not now, but soon. He will be able to guess if he hasn't already.

Aelin growled softly. "He will never know. If worse comes to worst, I'll send him to Ansel and Gavriel for a few months, a year, two, doesn't matter. Long enough that he will not suspect anything."

"That will not work long-time, Aelin. And the court... they will be able to see the resemblance."

She started walking again. "They will stay silent if they know what's good for them."

"But the rumors–"

"Enough, Aedion," Aelin snapped, "I know." She hesitated. "And there are other ways."

"You know what I think of those other ways," Aedion rumbled. "An innocent life, Aelin."

"Stop hounding me. I _know_. This is my life we are talking about."

"Your life never belonged to you."

Aelin's head drooped. "I know."

Rowan pressed himself deeper into the alcove as they walked past his hiding spot. Aelin's hands was pressed against her belly.

He cursed Aedion for a fool for not realizing he was there, but when they curved around the corner, Aedion looked back just once his sharp eyes cutting straight into the shadows in which Rowan hid. _Fix this_ , his eyes said. _Fix it or I will kill you gladly–with or without Aelin's permission_.

Rowan sagged into the stones. Pregnant, Aelin was pregnant and she didn't tell him. His low, vicious voice seemed to echo around him. _It was a mistake. A mistake, a mistake, a mistake._

All those little clues– her sickness, her avoidance of him, her hands always around her stomach. He had failed to scent it, failed to see past his own selfishness yet again.

Rowan rose. He won't fail her again.

...

Aelin felt him near before she saw him.

"You didn't tell me."

So Aedion had clued him in. "No," she said curtly, fingering a rose. "If you were paying attention, you would have known. I wasn't hiding it that well anyway."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was being selfish," Rowan swallowed, "and I hurt you and the baby. It was despicable."

"I'm glad you realize that." She moved away.

Rowan dogged her, green eyes pleading and wrapped his arms around her, "Please," he breathed into her neck. "Let me make it up to you."

She stiffened. "If you are expecting forgiveness, you won't find it with me," Aelin said flatly. Her hands brushed her stomach and her throat tightened. "You left me again. You left me in every way that counted." She shook off his grasp. "I don't need you. The baby doesn't either."

"But I do," Rowan said quietly. "I need you."

"Seems to me you were doing fine, these past few months." The words came out bitter, rather than the indifference she was aiming for.

"I've always needed you more than you needed me."

Aelin snorted. "You're joking." She pivoted. "Do you know how much I panicked when I first found out?" She wrapped her arms around herself. "You weren't there," her words were sharp with recollected terror. "You weren't there," she repeated.

"I won't leave again," Rowan swore.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

There was a flash of silver, the coppery scent of blood and Aelin immediately turned. "What–" she gaped at the red dripping from his palm.

"I swear to the gods, the moon, life itself, if that's what it takes. I won't leave you or our child– children ever." He smiled hesitantly. "I once promised you forever, I'm reiterating that promise."

"You foolish pointy-eared asshole," Aelin grumbled, carefully applying pressure to the cut with a handkerchief. "And who said anything about other children? We aren't even married."

Rowan hummed. "We'll have to rectify that as soon as possible then."

Aelin narrowed her eyes. "You aren't getting out of this so easily."

"I didn't expect to."

"Good, because you're going to be the one breaking the news of our wedding to Aedion."

Rowan shut his eyes. "Damn."

Aelin grinned smugly. "Yeah."


	6. Chapter 6

Prompt: **Rowan and Aelin are the greatest rulers Terrasen has ever had. (via aelin-galathynius)**

 **Note: I digressed a lot.**

 **...**

There were dark smudges under her eyes when she finally came in her rooms. Rowan straightened on his armchair by the fire, his brows furrowed. "You look horrible."

Aelin shot him a tired glare and rubbed her eyes. "Thanks," she mumbled. "That totally makes me feel better."

Setting down the blueprints to the new library he was examining, Rowan rounded his desk to her. "Sit down," he said with a sigh, pushing her down on a green velvet divan. "Are you wearing a corset?"

"No. It was too uncomfortable for a council meeting so Elide left it off," she muttered, groaning as she stretched herself on the sofa.

Aelin gave a contented sound as Rowan began to kneed the tight muscles of her shoulders. She groaned particularly loudly at a stiff part, and... Rowan wasn't blushing. He wasn't.

In an attempt to redirect his attention, he asked, "What were you discussing, pray tell, that left you so exhausted?"

Aelin opened a fist and a silver band gleamed on her palm. "They want me to get married." She went on, oblivious as Rowan tensed. "I told them I wouldn't yet. Honestly, it was as if they thought I was planning on eloping or something." She glared at it. "I don't even know how they were able to find my father's wedding band. The council meeting was me arguing against ten old men who were trying to push their sons at me. It was horrible."

She rubbed her temples and rose. Rowan's hands fell to his sides. "I need a nice long, hot bath, with lots and lots of bubbles."

"Do you want me to call for Elide?" Rowan offered.

"I can draw my own bath, Rowan," Aelin said with an easy smile. "She works too hard as it is, running Perranth from Orynth. I don't want to interrupt her rest. It's late."

She glanced at the ring and shuddered. "Here," she lifted his hand and placed the ring in his palm. It was warmed from her skin and his fingers automatically closed around it. "Find someone to wear it. I don't want to think about it."

His eyes narrowed. "You want me to find you a husband?"

Aelin sighed, raking a hand through her hair. The gold glowed auburn in the light of the scones and it illuminated her wistful expression. "It's not like I ever thought I would marry for love anyway, once I took up my crown."

"You could," Rowan said softly, "marry for love that is."

She shook her head again. "Dorian told me that once, you know. That he would only marry for love." She laughed bitterly. "I told him he was a hopeless, romantic fool." Aelin was quiet for a moment. "I thought it would be Chaol, once upon a time, but we both know how well that turned out. So choose for me, Rowan," Aelin implored. "I trust your judgement."

Rowan gave her a stiff nod, even as his heart writhed at the thought of any man beside her, touching her, loving her. The thought of any man sharing her bed. Nobody deserved her, especially not him. But as he watched her slump into the bathing room, he couldn't help but wish she would be his.

He turned the band over and over in his hand. What a simple ring to have been passed from king to king in one of the world's greatest royal lineages. No gaudy jewels or special embellishes, just smooth silver, with swirls of archaic-looking marks engraved into its surface. It was exactly something he would have chosen.

The marks resembled words in the Old Language, but when he attempted to read them, Rowan could not make any sense of what it said.

In a momentary lapse of judgement, he slipped it onto his finger and flexed it. It fit comfortably, settling onto his finger like a second skin.

Rowan frowned. He swore it was smaller before; it couldn't have fit. But when he made to take it off, no matter how he yanked or twisted it, the band refused to budge. Swearing under his breath, he glanced at the door to the bathing room. It remained closed and he could still hear the running of water.

He continued to tug, going as far to dig his nails into his skin under the band to pull it free. Nothing worked. Panicking, Rowan contemplated how much it would hurt if he cut his finger off. He looked at his dagger, then back to the ring.

The band glimmer smugly at him.

The door opened. "Row–" Aelin broke off.

Rowan whirled to face her. She stood at the threshold, her skirts in disarray, steam curling around her like a phantom. Tendrils of wet hair framed her face as she stared wide-eyed at the ring on his finger. Her cheeks flushed. "You– um– chose quickly."

So Rowan said the only thing he could. "It got stuck," he squeaked. Thrusting his hand toward her like it was a red hot brand, he said, "I wasn't– I didn't mean–"

She was still gaping. "It's not supposed to come off. Nothing will make it loosen once the bearer is chosen, and it will stay until you die."

Rowan flapped his hand at her, like he was trying to shake it off. "I–um–"

"I could ask one of the elders if it's possible," she babbled, backing away. "Yeah, I'll do that tomorrow. It'll probably be inconvenient for you to have it on–um– yeah." She slammed the door shut, then opened it again barely half a second later. "Right, I," she gestured awkwardly to her back, "can't get the stays at the back. Will you untie them for me?"

He's done this plenty of times, Rowan chanted to himself. It's not weird. It's not like I'm undressing my wife– he stopped the thought before it could go further. Rowan tugged at the stays, make sure not to brush her skin and she shimmied out of it.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly. Aelin stood in her shift and nope, he was not looking, wasn't looking. He was totally looking, but who's to tell? And besides, it's nothing he hasn't seen before.

Aelin wasn't going back in the bathing room and Rowan took a shuddering breath closing his eyes. It wouldn't be fair to her.

"Rowan," she said softly.

He let out a sigh and opened his eyes, focusing on her face, "Yeah?" he responded, strained.

She chewed on her lip and ducked her head, tracing an invisible pattern on the carpet with her toe. "Would it be so horrible? To be married to me?" Aelin continued quickly, when he didn't respond. "I know you don't love me like that. Lyria was your mate, but," she peeked up at him with a hopeful look, "I'm not expecting anything and I trust Terrasen will do well with you as king."

 _I know you don't love me like that._ Can't she tell how he felt? Can't she tell how desperate he was to keep her? "Don't just settle on me," he said gruffly. "You deserve the best."

Aelin wrapped her arms around her middle. "But you are the best," she whispered to the floor. She looked so small and delicate standing there, Rowan suddenly felt like the worst person in the world to deny her this.

He tipped her chin up, "Of course, I will," Rowan said gently.

"It's not an order, Rowan. You don't have to do it." She hesitated, and shook her head. "You know what? Never mind. My request was selfish." She turned to go back in the bathing room, but Rowan was gripping her arms, terrified at the thought of losing her to another.

"I said I will do it," Rowan growled.

Aelin looked confused. "But you don't want to."

There were no words to describe to her how much he loved her, how much he cared. It terrified him, what it meant. Lyria had been his mate, but what was Aelin then? Was it possible? Was he that lucky, to have been given two?

"Do you want me to?" he asked carefully.

Aelin raised an eyebrow. "What I want hardly matters. I never get what I want." Rowan gave her a look and she sighed. "I want whatever you want," she said simply. "It doesn't matter what you choose. My only want is for you to be happy and at my side."

It was impossible, Rowan decided, impossible that such a perfect woman existed. "And if I want to be your king?" he inquired softly, as he prowled closer. She shivered as his fingers caressed her face.

Aelin pressed a kiss to his palm, smiling. "I would welcome it." She pushed herself onto her toes, her lips hovering over his. Rowan couldn't help himself, he grinned like a fool as their lips touched. They stayed in that position for a long time.

Elide found an overfilled tub and two very flushed and tousled royals a few minutes later. The servants had a hard time mopping up the water that had overflowed. Elide was not amused.


	7. Chapter 7

**For those of you that were asking, my tumblr account is wishingonthenorthstar. Though I always tag the headcannon fics as silverleaf15 so if you search that tag, all the the stuff there should be mine.**

 **Thanks for all the love, my darlings.**

Prompt: **Aedion seeing Aelin fight for the first time? Dorian and Chaol watching Rowan and Aelin "fight" (via anon)**

 **...**

Aelin was pale as she handed Dorian over to Chaol. Dorian sagged onto his friend's side, then struggled to straighten. "I can help," he rasped. "You can't take on so many men by yourself."

"Help, my ass," she snapped. "You can barely stand on your own." Eyeing the mouth of the alley, Aelin drew Goldryn and held out a hand to Chaol. "Give me Damaris."

Aedion lurched out of Ren's grasp. "I can–"

Without even glancing at him, Aelin took Damaris. "This alley is a dead end," she said for the benefit of Ren and Chaol. "Get Aedion and Dorian to the Avery. There will be a girl waiting for you by the docks. Her name is Lysandra. She will take you to a safe house. I will join you when I am finished here."

Ren heaved Aedion to his feet. Multiple wounds leaked black blood onto the cobblestones. "Aelin," he whispered.

She gave him a cheeky salute. "Later, general." Her attention drew to the alley opening.

Harsh masculine voices drifted their way. "Here!"

Ren began to drag him away, but Aedion jerked against him. "Let me–"

"The best thing you can do for me is get out of the way. It is difficult to tell who's who when I'm gutting them all," Aelin said distracted. Chaol was already to the end of the alley. In the opposite direction were men, all attired in black with a wyvern embossed on the breast. She whistled loudly to get their attention. They turned to her. Ten in all. "After all, I wasn't Adarlan's Assassin for ten long years for nothing."

The Lord Allsbrook heaved him to the wall beside the prince. Aedion watched the men. They didn't notice the captain swinging himself onto the roof. Instead they focused on the slender woman propped against the alley wall. White teeth flashed a dark smile.

"Welcome, gentlemen."

They stopped a few metres away from her. "Traitor," one hissed.

Aelin cocked her head. "Traitor?" she threw her head back and laughed. "How can I be a traitor if I was never on your side?"

"Then which side are you on?" another cut in smoothly.

She leaned forward. "One may say I am self-serving, darling, but I've always been on one side and that's my side."

One lifted his sword. "Smartass bitch," he hissed. "I will enjoy killing you."

"I think I'm liking my odds," she said slowly.

They laughed. "Ten to one?"

A flash of silver and one of the men emitted a gurgle before slumping soundlessly to the ground. Aedion stilled. Ren stopped moving, turning to watch. So fast. Nothing but shadows.

Aelin was smiling. "Don't you mean nine to one?"

There was a low chuckle from behind the men. They tensed, glancing at each other. A companion was uncounted for. "She means nine to two I believe."

His queen's smile widened as she flashed the newcomer a grin. "Yes, I do believe I am mistaken. Though now the odds seem just the tiniest bit unfair for them don't you think?"

The stranger clucked regretfully. "It is far too easy now. Perhaps a head start for them so they actually pose a challenge?"

"I'm too tired to hunt today." She sighed. "Perhaps it's just their ill fortune–"

The men attacked. Aedion, despite knowing Aelin could protect herself, flinched as they lunged for his queen. His hands balled into fists as a breath caught in his throat.

Aelin whirled away from the wall, and with a feral smile launched into the fray. She spun and twirled between them, the ancient blades nothing but extensions of her arms. It was a dance, the clash of weapons the melody, the graceful ripple of sinew and bone the steps to an age old caper, her cowled companion a mysterious partner.

It the most magnificent thing he'd ever seen.

Aedion could have watched forever, but it was clear the king's men were markedly outmatched and the clash barely lasted a minute. He caught the gleam of steel, the black spurts of blood, the groans of the king's men and the whole thing was over.

Ren was still gaping as he hauled Aedion, none too gently, up to the roof where Dorian and Chaol waited. She had moved like a wraith, of brutal fury and merciless spirit. And her companion... a storm of cold, calculated blows. It was difficult not to admire the man's careful discipline or his cousin's lethal efficiency.

Aelin cleaned her blades on a spare fabric and slid them into their sheaths. She glanced at her companion. "I could have handled myself fine."

He crossed his arms. "And let you have all the fun?"

She laughed and threw herself into his arms. "I've missed you so much," Aedion heard her murmur.

Dorian let out a pointed cough. Aelin didn't bother detangling herself from the man's embrace. "You were supposed to leave," she said turning to face them, a hand wrapped around the stranger's arm.

Chaol sat down on the edge of the roof. "We thought you would like some chaperoning." The edge to his voice was barely audible.

Aelin snorted and glanced back her companion. They seemed to exchange a conversation without saying a word. "Let's get Aedion and Dorian to a healer first." She made to rub her face, then thought better of it grimacing at the blood. "We have much to catch up on."


	8. Chapter 8

Super short. Sorryy!

Prompt: **Rowan seeing Terrasen for the first time. About him feeling the North wind and smelling the pine and snow. And maybe even include some friendly banter with him and Aelin after he makes a connection to his own scent.**

 **...**

He sniffed again, gingerly. "This place smells like me," Rowan said flatly.

Aelin raised an eyebrow, mouth twitching, and continued to watch the city below them. "So it does."

"So it–" He huffed. "That's all you have to say about it? This is unnatural!" Rowan surveyed the tangle of the Oakward Forest in the shadow of the Staghorn Mountains.

"All I smell is home."

It was Rowan's turn to lift his brows. "So all those times you snuffled on my chest, you were getting high on my scent because it reminded you of home?

She glared. "You make it sound so dirty. I happen to like that smell. So what?"

He slipped his arms around her waist, her back to his chest. Aelin inhaled deeply and closed her eyes as Rowan rested his head on her shoulder. "Nothing wrong with that," he murmured into her ear. "I happen to like your scent a great deal as well."

Aelin rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Elide will be happy to hear that the soaps she chooses for me are to your standards."

She felt his scowl against her skin. "And to the standards of every male in the palace. They won't stop looking at you."

Aelin hid her smirk and said innocently, "I don't see why that is a problem."

His chest vibrated against her back as he growled. "It makes me want to rip out their eyeballs. How those brutes think that to be a respect way to look at a queen I'll never know. They make me want to shove you in a sack and throw you in the garbage. Maybe if you were born uglier–"

"Even if I wasn't blessed with beauty, I would still be queen."

Rowan sighed, his breath stirring tendrils of her hair. "I know. I just don't like how they look at you, that's all."

Aelin couldn't suppress her giddy grin, golden warmth lighting her chest. "You think I'm beautiful?"

His teeth playfully grazed her ear. "You know you are. I won't say it to inflate your ego. It doesn't need any more boosting."

She twisted in his arms till they were chest to chest. Aelin could feel each slow breath he took, his heart drumming its familiar rhythm and made a decision. "I love you," she whispered. Aelin didn't dare look at his face. Instead she hugged his waist, her face buried into his tunic, pulling in breath after breath of calming pine and snow.

He tensed, each muscle pulling taut against her. Rowan released a breath. "I know." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and twinned their hands together.

Through the open window, a breeze curled around the couple, icy fingers caressing until Aelin was pressed up so tightly against Rowan there was no chance of deciphering where one ended and the other began. "Together, Fireheart," she heard him whisper. "Always."


	9. Chapter 9

Prompt: **Rowan and Aelin sleeping on the same bed all cuddled up (as they always are) -Aelin having terrible nightmares b/c the Valg princes/massacred salves still haunt her (come on she's tough but nineteen) -basically rowan comforting her after a lot of angst and scars ripped open.**

 **...**

They advanced on her, hollow-eyed and hungry. "Let us in, little girl," one whispered. His hands trailed over the back of her neck, and said girl shuddered, a shiver skittering down her spine. How was she here? She spun toward the source of the touch, lifting her hands as means to ward them away.

Desperate eyes scanned the churned up earth of the barren field. It seemed familiar to her somehow, but the more she strained to place it, the more the memory drifted out of her reach. Where...

Darkness was in the air, choking, the very essence of the world corrupted, and she knew she had failed. In what she could not name but the girl knew something inexplicably terrible had occurred. They chuckled as one as if answering her thoughts, and reached for her.

The girl reared away. "Stay away," her voice wavered. "Stay back." But when she made to call her magic, nothing answered. Her hands went to her waist, but they only brushed loops and empty air where her weapons should be. Instinct warred against her mind. Was she Fae? A warrior? She could not remember. Why couldn't she remember?

"Come with us," they murmured. "There will be peace eternal for Not-Brannon of the Wildfire."

The girl knew from lurching instinct that peace was anything but what they intended for her. "I don't–"

Brannon.

She hung on that name, the most minuscule fragment of familiarity before the wrenching thing in her mind could whisk it away. Brannon. The girl repeated it, savoured the knowledge that was hers. Galathynius. Terrasen. King?

Something soft and wet cut into her heels and the girl went sprawling. Oh gods, it was flesh under her hands, sticky with blood and–

A man's blank gold-blue eyes stared into nothing, mouth contorted into a horrific expression of despair. She ripped her hands away, an automatic reaction. The red on her hands were peculiar in its intimacy, the dampness like a long-lost friend. She was used to it, the chaffing of drying blood, the tingle as it flaked off her skin.

The gold of the man's hair still gleamed, wet with blood, she thought morbidly, like burnt brass. There was pain– she still felt pain. She welcomed it, the red hot dagger that dug into her ribs, into her chest. She didn't understand the sudden anguish or the foreign drops of water that clung to her lashes. The girl supposed it was a good sign. It meant she was not a monster.

Not yet.

But she was tired, so tired of fighting a nameless force that seemed infinitely stronger. And the tears– they blurred her vision like a child's fingers dragged across a wet painting.

Cousin.

Aedion.

The titles were dragged out from the muck of her consciousness. _Aedion_.

"See, child," they murmured. "They all left you. Alone. Afraid. Unprotected." They circled her like wolves, black eyes roving over her tensed body. A coiled wire, stretched to snapping point. Wolves. Flashing gold eyes. Fenrys and... The girl struggled to remember. Connell?

"A prince, murdered by his own blood. A captain, loyalty his downfall. A warrior, failing in his purpose. And–" They sighed simultaneously. "The Fae male."

The girl couldn't explain the immediate cold that surged through her veins. Fae male. It iced her heart, the fear.

"Such a bond," one tsked. "Could you not feel his absence? Is there no void in your heart where he once was?" It's tone was mocking.

Her hands flew to her chest. She wouldn't know. She didn't remember. Panic heightened. _She didn't remember._

"What a waste," another clucked. "He would have been such a perfect body for one of our brothers."

"You touch him," the girl said softly, not understanding the lethal venom in her tone, "and I gut you."

They laughed. "Will you kill us too then? It's nothing I suppose for Adarlan's Assassin. You've murdered hundreds of thousands. Your victims scream for vengeance from their graves."

"I'm," her voice wavered, "sure there was a reason."

They cackled. "Skilled as you are, you never seem to be able to save them. Death befalls all those who love you– the worst kind of curse."

She wrapped her arms around her middle."They would not have left me willingly," she snapped. "He– _you_ took them away from me." A barren field, nothing she could use as a weapon, even as the girl cast her gaze around wildly.

The things advanced. "Nobody is coming for you, child."

The girl started to back away, then stopped, a shred of clarity cleaving the sludge of her mind. "Rowan," she said, soft with the revelation.

Laughing, like the harsh cries of crows. "What is that, child?"

The girl straightened and again, stronger, "Rowan." She carefully cradled the comfort the name gave, tucking it into her heart. Tears fled down her cheeks. "Rowan."

"Gone, my dear," they cackled, and as one, they dove for her.

Nobody came.

...

When she came to, the girl found that she was pinned to bed, a long, hard body curled over her legs, arms restrained over her head. Fear, irrational, surged through battered nerves and she thrashed, arching her spine to free a hand and–

"Aelin."

The name didn't register. A stranger's low hiss as she swung a fist into his cheek. The blow glanced off of him, all her movements chaotic and wild, a cornered beast.

The male– it was a male– eased off of her. "Aelin." Soft, placating. Aelin, that was her name. Pine and snow.

She focused on his scent, heart settling as she took breath after breath.

"Better?" came the soft murmur. She nodded, then shook her head. Rowan slid toward her again, cautiously.

Aelin chewed on her lip and brushed a finger down his cheek, where the skin was slowly darkening with a bruise. "Sorry," she whispered. "Again."

Tired pine-green eyes surveyed her. "It's nothing."

Aelin closed her eyes and curved her body closer to his warmth. She was so cold. Why was she so cold?

Rowan tucked his arm around the curve of her waist and their legs tangled together at the end of the bed. The heath flared, as Rowan fed the flames his air and the temperature in the room rose.

"Do you want me to heat up some milk?"

Aelin shook her head, her ear pressed against his chest. She listened to the slow beat of his heart, allowed the steady, unfailing tempo to ground her. His chest rose and fell, timed with her own quiet breaths as he brushed his hands through her hair, soothing.

"Tell me your greatest fear," Aelin murmured into his chest. She made a noise of protest as he shifted and peered down at her.

"Losing purpose, I suppose."

She murmured softly, encouraging him to continue. He hesitated. "When you live as long as I do, there has to be a reason for our existence. Something," he struggled to put it into words, "that makes this life worth living for, you know?"

"Have you found yours? Your purpose?"

His hand stilled against her hair, but at her wordless protest, resumed stroking, and gave her a soft smile. "I believe so. And you? What does my brave Fireheart fear?"

"Losing my sanity. Losing you."

Rowan hummed. "Was that what it was about?"

She curled into herself. "You weren't there."

"Dead, I suppose."

Aelin flinched, violently. "Don't say that. Don't joke about such things."

He reached down to grip her hand. "I won't ever leave you," Rowan said fiercely. "I promised you that. I won't break it."

"I know," she whispered. She pressed herself closer, shutting her eyes, and Rowan carefully drew the ransacked covers over them again.

"Sweet dreams, Fireheart."

She mumbled something incoherent and Rowan smiled, pressing a kiss to her brow. "Nothing could ever take me away from you," he murmured into her skin. "Not anything in the world, not the gods, _nothing_."

Aelin smiled softly in her sleep.

As if she would never let him leave anyway.

She dreamt well that night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Prompt:** Aelin takes rowan into town and makes him update his wardrobe because she's SO sick of seeing him wearing the same colors all the time… They don't even bring out his eyes and... Luca tells them that they're an adorable couple and he's glad they got together, not knowing that they haven't even admitted their feelings for each other to themselves yet.

...

She rifled through his trunks, wrinkling her nose at the creases in the various fabrics and the musty scent it gave off. "You realize you're supposed to hang your clothes?" Aelin shook a tunic at him, stifling a cough at the dust that scattered into the air.

He regarded her from beneath lowered brows from where he lounged on the bed reading his notes. "A closet takes up too much room," Rowan stated simply, casting a pointed look at the weapons hung scattered over the walls. "And besides," he gave a lazy shrug, "my appearance isn't the highest on my list of priorities."

Aelin shot him a skeptical look. "You spend more time preening your hair than anyone else I know."

"Says the girl who spends an hour in the bathing room every day."

"It takes effort to look as good as I," she protested, shaking her hair out. Rowan let out a choked snort and Aelin glared. She pulled out another tunic and grimaced. "Why is this all grey?" Aelin threw it over her shoulder and rummaged deeper as Rowan squawked in indignation.

"At least pick up after yourself if you have to go through my belongings."

"What is all this? Grey, grey, grey. Do you ever wear anything else? These aren't even pretty shades of grey. They don't compliment your eyes at all." She shuddered, lifting something pale and fluttery with her piece fingers. "You even have moths in here." Aelin dropped it in disgust.

She turned toward another trunk placed neatly against the wall. "And where are your undergarments? And do not tell me they are grey."

From behind her, Aelin heard a muffled moan and a thump. "You did _not_ just ask me about my undergarments. Do you know no shame?"

Aelin paused before unlatching the lid, glancing over her shoulder. "Living with a Keep of men half my life guaranteed I would see them in various states of undress. Shame was bred out of me long ago."

Rowan muttered something into the bed sheets and sighed. "You won't find them."

She stilled, shoulders curving up to meet her ears as her cheeks flamed.

"What?"

The silence was prickly and mortifying. Aelin kept her hands clenched on the latch. "I don't wear undergarments," Rowan growled.

She cleared her head of anything that was of Rowan and inhaled. "Oh," she squeaked. He ever so slowly widened his eyes, watching her reaction, damn him.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course not," she snapped and plowed on, refusing to give him any indication of the sudden warmth that curled in her belly and cheeks. "Anyway, did I mention we needed to go shopping?" She flapped the simple grey linen shirt for emphasis and worked to cool herself.

Rowan's brows raised. "We do?"

Aelin's brows mirrored his, pushing her embarrassment away "Of course. What are you going to wear after I burn these drab things?" She pointed to the pile of fabric on the floor.

Rowan narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't," he growled.

Aelin ignored the ball of heat ignited by his raspy purr and cocked her hip, placing a hand on her waist. "Don't you know better than to tell me what not to do?"

He observed her, then, sensing that Aelin wasn't going to waver in her stance, sighed. "If we go– _if_ we go," he warned as he saw her beam, "I want to keep at least some of my clothes."

Aelin nodded. "Agreed." She snapped her fingers.

Rowan yelped as one half of the room was consumed by flame. "I said _some_ of my clothes. You disintegrated all of them!"

She nodded sagely. "I realize you said some. If I had meant to disintegrate all your clothes, you would be as naked as the day you were born."

His arms wrapped himself reflexively as he gaped at her.

"See that?" she asked waving a nonchalant hand at his attire. "Now all you have are the clothes on your back. I did Luca a favor. If you waddled around Mistward in your birthday suit–"

"I do not waddle," Rowan sniffed.

Aelin widened her eyes and pouted. "Don't worry, my little whittle baby poochikins. You have the cutest waddle," she cooed and clapped her hands. "Be proud. Now, we're going to go shopping, isn't that fun?"

Rowan shuddered. "If you ever say that to me again, I will kill myself."

"Aww, is poochikins unhappy with his nickname?" Aelin clucked, reaching with a hand to pinch Rowan's cheek. Rowan slapped her hand away. "My poor snuggle bunny, cutie pie?"

He lunged for her as she giggled hysterically. Aelin dodged him still laughing. "My poor–" she said between gasps for breath, "little– baby– Rowan?"

He knocked her onto the carpet and pinned her legs beneath his. She was still quivering, eyes crinkled into a smile. Rowan bared his teeth down at her, his tattoo shifting. "Stop, that."

"I know you love me too," she purred, patting his cheek. Rowan glared. _Not right now no._

Aelin merely smirked and arched her back, preparing to fling him off when they heard a loud gasp at the doorway.

Rowan, his glare ready, growled at the intruder, then faltered.

Luca's wide eyes stared back at them.

Luca.

Oh no.

Aelin knew what the boy saw. Rowan on top of her, pinned to the floor, limbs tangled, cheeks flushed, scraps of clothes scattered over the room. She struggled to get up, shoving at Rowan's chest. "It's not what you think," she said weakly. But it was already too late.

"God's above, I knew it," he squealed, then grinning, whirled away and closed the door. "Sorry to interrupt," he called through the door. Rowan grimaced and rolled off of her.

"Gods," Aelin moaned. "Why, of all people."

Then from the corridors. "Sheldon! I told you so! You owe me thirty silvers, pal! They are so adorable. You have to come see. Well, not see but…" His voice faded.

Rowan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry," she squeaked.


	11. Chapter 11

Prompt: **Aelin gets hurt in battle and Rowan feels it though their bond via aedionwhitethorn**

 **WARNING:** Dark themes and gore involved. Reader's discretion is advised (probably one of the more graphic ones I've written) I'm a sobbing mess right now. Don't touch me

Also I really do feel that for Rowan and Aelin: I hate you is code word for I love you. ;))

...

His blades screamed through the air, cleaving apart the neck of a black garbed soldier. Rowan didn't wait for the head to topple before he was on top of another, the blades the means, he, the weapon. The swords he wield were slick with black blood; the liquid dribbled down the hilt in rivulets making his tenacious grip on it slippery.

The ground rolled and slid under their boots, squelching in mud. Yesterday's rains combined with the blood to create the rotting, damp stench of death and decay. Rowan wasn't sure if he would ever get it out of his nostrils.

The battlefield was the god of death embodied, bodies strewn like broken straw dolls. It was of a kind of jagged relief to him that he couldn't recognize the dismembered limbs of his comrades–but it was of little comfort. It was only a matter of time.

But what time they had dragged on, blood, the payment for every second, every moment of this battle. His strength was still at its peak; he could go on for hours still, but the others could not. They were already flagging under Adarlan's relentless assault.

Rowan had been called to lead the eastern front; Aelin herself led their northern flank. They had argued silently for hours regarding that. He hated to send her off alone, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Aedion's protests were shut down with just one look and a flash of her canines, so he hadn't much help there.

She didn't need his protection. No, of course not. Rowan scoffed to think of his queen needing anyone's protection. But he liked being at her side, an unspoken challenge for those who confronted her.

And someone had to keep her from acting on her stupid martyr complex and to help her if her ever burnt out and the thought of her ever hurt… Rowan stopped the train of thought before it could wreck him, and gutted another soldier with vicious intent. He split apart from collarbone to navel, dimmed eyes barely registering the pain before collapsing in a spray of blood and guts. Rowan stepped over him and continued on.

Luca fought his way toward him. "Report," Rowan growled over the cries of the battle and fallen.

"The queen's squadron," the young demi-Fae said with a gasp, "they were encircled and cut off the main battalion."

Rowan hesitated, a spear of alarm running him through, but Aelin was resourceful. She would be fine. She had to be. "How's the queen holding up?"

Luca shook his head, the whites of his eyes showing. "Nobody knows. They were engulfed by same kind of dark cloud that occurred in Mistward–"

Rowan swore, and as if in answer, a bolt of red fire shot up and unfurled into the sky, then another. He sagged in relief. The signal for safety. He scanned the battlefield, but there was no tell-tale gleam of gold or those flying, ancient blades she wield like extensions of her arms.

He sliced through a leg, then ducked a javelin aimed for his throat. He turned his focus inward, toward the glowing rope at his core. Rowan tugged at their bond, a gentle call.

There was no response. He tugged again, insistently. _Respond, damn you!_

A spike of irritation flowed through and a mental image of her battling on the northern flank appeared in his mind's eye. Bloodied, and sweat-soaked and exhausted, but it one piece. He nearly collapsed relief. _Satisfied old man? I am unduly occupied. Unlike you, apparently._

 _Just checking in_ , Rowan thought back. _Where's Aedion?_

She gave a mental shrug. _I'm not his keeper. He feels fine to me. Come to think of it, you're probably closer to him than I am right now._ Rowan's eyes flickered, giving the field another perfunctory scan. He spotted Aedion in the middle of the action, his blades whirling in a sea of blood, a feral smile gracing his mouth.

Aedion caught his gaze and smirked, lifting two fingers off the hilt on his sword in a quick salute, before disemboweling a soldier.

 _Rowan?_ Aelin inquired faintly as Rowan drove a dagger into a faceless enemy's major artery. The soldier howled, the cry melding with the screams of other wounded– a strangely human sound for a madman's minion. _You are alright, yeah?_ Rowan grunted his reply and finished his opponent off, decorating his face with a dripping smile, before realizing Aelin couldn't hear him.

 _I'm fine_ , he reassured her. _When am I not?_ Rowan could feel his queen's responding smile, the gold warmth of her affection.

Her mind started to withdraw from their connection when a line of fire scorched down his back, painting his mind red and black. The pain came next, sweeping in a haze of raging heat that pulsed like drums over his skin.

Did the line fall back? How had the enemy pushed through? Swearing, Rowan held off the soldiers with his right hand while his left reached for his back to grope… It was fine. He was intact as far as he could tell.

Aedion's head shot up and his Ashryver eyes met his, the fear and pain in them sending Rowan groping for the bond. _AELIN!_

There was no response, but the pain was starting numb, fray away at the edges like a worn carpet. _AELIN! Answer me!_

She was gone, a void at the other end of the bond where her consciousness usually rested.

Gone. Aelin was gone. His heart stopped. The horror of it nearly brought Rowan to his knees. Aedion was already running, cleaving anyone who deterred him with a wild slash of his sword. Gone.

Rowan hacked at the crowd in front of him futilely. "Lorcan," he roared. "Lorcan, take command!"

The ancient demi-Fae warrior gave him a nod from where he fought against two nasty-looking brutes.

Rowan shifted with a flash of light, immediately soaring toward the northern battalion. His hawk gave a keening cry, calling for his mistress. He tried again, _Aelin, please. It's not funny._ She didn't answer.

 _Aelin_ , he pleaded.

The void taunted him. He would kill for this when he found her. _If she's alive by the time you're there_ , a dark part of whispered. Rowan begged the current to take him higher, faster. She must be alive. He would not accept any other option. They had come too far to end here.

Rowan's eyes roved over the thousands of writhing heads. They moved in a mass of silver and black, red the backdrop to it all. Aedion was still battling his way there.

A small mass of red and silver struggled their way to the back, heading for the tents that made up the makeshift infirmary. Rowan made to turn away, but something in his gut wrenched, making him take a closer look. Two slight figures, one dragging the other. A glimpse of blonde.

Rowan was on them in a flash. Aelin was slumped against the High Queen, a gash at her back where her armour had been somehow ripped away. Bone glistened wetly.

His stomach roiled, bile rising, but he swallowed it down. Now was not the time to break down. The High queen's auburn hair blended in with the blood and mud matted into Aelin's usual immaculate gold.

Rowan took her from Ansel, barely curbing the urge to bare his teeth at the foreign queen who had returned his Aelin in such in state. She was so light, lips pale and cracked, as Rowan gathered her up. Her skin was clammy and cold, feeble shivers wracking her thin frame.

He sometimes forgot how small Aelin really was. She exuded such brash confidence and personality it compensated for her size, but now she seemed too light, too small, too pale to be the queen he knew who inspired warriors and empires.

Aelin moaned as his arms brushed her wounded back, and Rowan nearly whimpered with her. _Sorry, I'm so sorry_. The High Queen shot Aelin a worried look before hurrying back to her men, her sword already raised as she dove back into fray, calling for the blood of those who had hurt her sister friend.

Aelin's blood was already seeping through his tunic as Rowan sprinted her to the infirmary. Aelin's pulse was weak, slowing, lashes fluttering with each shallow breath she took. Her Fae body struggled to knit itself together, but with such blood loss…

The healers exclaimed and rushed over as Rowan ducked into the tent. _You can't die,_ Rowan sent. _You can't leave me alone._ Aelin didn't stir. _You can't leave me alone._

Soft, skilled hands brought the queen to a cot and Rowan followed, shoulders hunched with an invisible weight. _Don't die. Please, Fireheart._ His heart clenched so hard, Rowan thought it would stop altogether.

His vision blurred as he felt her already lethargic heart rate slow. Not again. Never again.

"Prince," a healer whispered, touching his shoulder lightly. "You have to go. We need to do our work."

Rowan shook his head wordlessly as he blinked, and clutched Aelin's limp hand tighter. "I'm not leaving her."

"Prince," a stronger voice proclaimed. Yrene. "You must wait outside–"

He snarled at her, baring his teeth, moving into a crouch. Yrene raised an eyebrow, unmoved at his display. But concern laced her expression as she glanced toward the cot where Aelin lay as still as a corpse. "We need you out. You will be the first to know when we are finished with the queen. We have many patients to get to. You are in the way." _And we will remove you in whatever way we can if you don't get out,_ was left unspoken, but Rowan could read it in her eyes.

"The first?" he croaked.

She gave him a gentle, but unyielding smile. "The first."

He cast one last glance at Aelin's prone body before ducking out.

She still hadn't awoken. He checked her eyes, her breathing, the bandages every few seconds. At least she wasn't bleeding. Aedion had come in a few hours ago, dripping with red. _I killed them all_ , his murderous expression said as he wiped the Sword of Orynth on a spare rag a healer handed him.

 _We had won_ , Rowan sent. The victory was glorious, the army, a true cultural quilt as men and women of different nations celebrated the small triumph. _You're missing out on the dancing. And the food._

Aedion slept at the foot of the cot, refusing to take part in the festivities without his cousin. Yrene had placed a spare blanket on his slumbering form, concealing the blood.

Rowan still couldn't understand how Aedion could sleep with armour on.

He tentatively placed his broad hand alongside Aelin's pale, slender fingers. Her hands were made for pen and paper– for music tapped out on the elegant pianoforte, she loved so much. But instead her former master had bred her for death, for violence. An eight year old girl fresh from court.

"You promised to play me a song," Rowan said quietly. "You promised me the Song of Terrasen."

She didn't respond, and Rowan sighed twinning their hands together on the cot. _Get better_ , he willed it into her. _Get better._

His heart stopped as her mind brushed his, sluggishly. _I can't get better if you are blabbing in my ear all night._ She was vaguely annoyed.

Rowan let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes.

Amusement curled. _Stop your blubbering. I would hate for the others think of my almighty Fae warrior as a shrinking violet._

 _I hate you,_ Rowan thought at her. _I hate you for make me feel like this._

Her lips curled. _I hate you too, Rowan._


	12. Chapter 12

Super short because I'm supposed to be studying for exams but decided to upload anyway.

Prompt: **Aelin loses control one night, and Rowan goes to try and calm her down but she's too distraught to listen and burns out so Rowan cares for her via aelin-herondale**

...

Rowan bared his canines at the captain. "The _nearest river_ ," he snarled emphatically. "Are you deaf?"

Chaol blanched, nearly shielding away, but at the last moment stood his ground. Rowan mentally gave him props for that. "The Avery." He pointed with a trembling finger. Rowan made to leave, Aelin's body scorching against his skin, when the shaking human boy touched his arm.

The boy drew away, hissing at the cold, but looked him in the eye. "Is she going to be alright?" The concern was palpable, tension winding his muscles tight. Worry stitched the boy's brow together, lips pressed in a chalky line.

Rowan gave him a wolfish smile. "Aelin is better now that I'm here."

The boy had nothing to say to that, and Rowan left, Aelin cradled against his chest. She smacked his chest weakly, hand flamingly hot against his tunic. "That was mean."

He shrugged. "I have more to worry about than a human boy's precious ego."

Aelin snorted, a hot puff of air that steamed in the brisk spring wind. "I'm sure."

Rowan shifted her slightly and heard Aelin's sharp intake of breath at the twinge of pain in her muscles. He froze immediately. "Sorry."

"No, I am sorry," she rasped, eyeing his tanned skin that was already turning an unnatural red. He would have blisters for sure. "Put me down. I can walk."

In response, he clutched her closer to him. Like hell he would let her walk. Aelin rolled her eyes, but snuggled into his arms.

Rowan curled his lip at the sludge that floated near the banks of the river– if it could be called a river at all, more so a sewer–and carefully let Aelin down. Her heat would kill anything living in the river within a twenty metre radius anyway.

He didn't know whether she was more comforted or disgusted in the cool black water. When he saw steam, Rowan quickly froze the water. "When did I graduate from child to Aelin?" she inquired in murmur. Rowan worked silently, tearing a small strip of cloth from his cloak and dipped it into the water.

Aelin purred as he brought the cold, dripping cloth to her forehead, arching herself to settle against him more comfortably, avoiding the exposed parts of his skin. "When you proved to me you were more than a spoilt rich brat," he said. Rowan felt her body tremble with a laugh.

"I'm still rich. And a brat. Why do you stay?"

The river was steadily getting cooler.

He didn't pretend to not understand her meaning. Rowan took a breath, chest expanding, then another. He could've said a multitude of things: I'm bound to you, you saved my life, brought me back from the darkness. Rowan could have said so many things aloud, things he'd seen in her eyes, things she'd read in his, things that were just known and understood between them without being voiced aloud.

"Because you're worth everything."

Aelin squeezed his hand, an inner fire still raging under her skin. "And you'll always be my first."

And that was all Rowan ever needed to know.


	13. Chapter 13

**Prompt: The first time Rowan sees Aelin smile or Rowan's POV of when he was stroking her hair in Heir of Fire**

 **Super, super short and I do mean short. Going back to my studying cave soon.**

 **...**

Aelin laid her head on the pillows, her sore body rustling the sheets softly as she struggled into a more comfortable position.

Rowan's hand hovered over her body helplessly, but Aelin had let her lucid, dreaming eyes fall shut, hair sprawled over her cheek.

"If you are going to hell," he murmured, as he leaned involuntarily closer to the sick assassin, his body curving around her body protectively, "as least you won't be there alone."

She purred against him as he lightly brushed the gold curls away from her face. "We would give him hell on a platter."

Rowan chuckled softly and continued stroking, the gleaming strands sliding though his fingers like silk. He thumbed a fuzzy tress and examined it lazily before placing it gently back to the pillow.

"You are going to kill me for this when I get better, aren't you."

He couldn't help the laugh that rumbled out of him, a bear awakening to the first signs of spring. Rowan could not remember the last time he had a reason to laugh– smile either for that matter. "You have no idea."

Aelin smiled against the pillow, and Rowan's heart lurched, his hand freezing above her hair. It was different this smile. Half shy, half pleased, but wholly genuine in intention and brilliance. He could remember another girl who smiled just like that, centuries apart but his memories of her just as fresh as if he'd seen her yesterday.

Aelin's brows pinched slightly when Rowan stopped stroking, but said nothing. He continued after a moment. "I believe you will liberate _all_ those slaves one day," he whispered into her hair, "no matter who you become and what you choose to call yourself."

She curled into him, a hand braced over his heart. "Thank you."


	14. Chapter 14:

Hiya guys!

I'm back after a really long hiatus. Sorry about the lack of notice, I was laboring through school :) This prompt is special. Me and some of my fanfic writing buddies are having a fanfic battle (which is basically just a friendly competition where we write from the same prompt and our followers, reviewers, readers, fans vote for their favorite!) **We were all going to publish our fics on the 25th, but I am at camp without WiFi for the whole week starting tomorrow so we've agreed to publish mine earlier. All the links to voting and commenting on our fanfics will be down below. And I would love it if you would support me. Thanks :)**

 **Prompt:** Aelin meets Rowan's cousins

* * *

Aelin glanced at him as she lifted the bloodstained tunic over her head. _You've been glaring at nothing since the battle._ _Want to tell me what this is about?_

"Not particularly, no," Rowan said aloud, focusing on unloosening his gauntlets. They clattered to the worktable next to his helmet and gardbrace, and he moved on to unstrapping his breastplate.

"We won," Aelin grumbled. "And you look like you still want Death on a pike." She went to him, despite the black cloud shifting ominously around him like the static current before a snowstorm, her slender fingers easily slipping the under the tie to tug the breastplate loose.

Rowan pulled it over his head with a sigh and roll of his shoulders. "We won one battle, Aelin. This will not guarantee victory for the others we have not faced."

Aelin dipped a washcloth into the basin. "You sound like a weary old man," she chided, wiping down her face and arms. He didn't rise to the bait. "We are supposed to be _celebrating_."

Dried blood sloughed off as she moved and Aelin wrinkled her nose in disgust, scrubbing all the harder. Oh what she would give for a proper bath and a sliver of soap. Any soap. The lavender scented one prefered of course.

"You look fine," Rowan said, the irritation clear in his tone.

"But I still feel disgusting," she complained, turning woeful eyes to him.

Rowan was not at all sympathetic. "You smell disgusting too."

Aelin glared.

Rowan arched a brow. _You are so vain_. She waited. He crossed his arms, muscles rippling under his heavy mail. _I was joking_ , he conceded. Aelin squinted. Rowan heaved a sigh. _Really I was joking, your scent is bearable._

She turned away to pull on a clean tunic, movements stiff. "You aren't really offended," Rowan said incredulously, from behind her. Aelin ignored him, opting to admire the swirling silver threads on the collar against the fabric of moss green. Its brass epaulettes gleamed in the candlelight.

Aelin didn't flinch as she felt cool fingers on her neck pushing her hair off to the side, before helping her into the kirtle. His arms wrapped around her, large hands doing the buttons with surprising deftness. "You know I didn't mean it," he murmured against her neck. "I'm sorry." Aelin could feel his breath on her collarbone and she shivered.

"You better be," she said teasingly, patting his jaw before slipping out of his grasp. "Now I've got to make my rounds before the celebration–"

"Your Majesty, Corporal Luca is here to see you."

"Coming," Aelin called. Rowan's pine eyes tightened at the corners. _Wait–_

She glanced at Rowan expectantly. _What is it?_

He shut his eyes, and with a whispered curse, shoved his hands through his newly cropped hair. Jaw working, Rowan turned away to stare at the weapons neatly laid out on the worktable.

"Rowan, what is wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's–nothing. Don't worry about it."

Frowning, she strapped Goldryn to her hip. "When it comes to you I'll always worry, Rowan."

Rowan gave a weak smile, shadowing her as she parted the tent flaps and ducked out into the evening sun. She blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the onslaught of brightness, and focused on the young man in front of her.

He was still in his riding leathers, rumpled, as if he had been brawling with his sleeping pallet– and lost. Luca made to bow. "Your Maje–"

She waved him up. "More of that and I'll have to start calling you Corporal Luca. You had no problem addressing me as Elentiya in the past." Luca forced a grin and fidgeted with his cuffs, shooting a quick, wide-eyed look past her shoulder. "Luca?" Aelin prompted.

His smile froze awkwardly on his face and the boy stayed strangely silent– a far cry from his usual lively prattle. Luca's gaze flicked back to her and there was something like icy dread darkening his eyes. He looked at his shoes. "Prince Lorayn and his brothers would like to see you."

At her side, Rowan tensed. She could feel him glaring daggers at the poor boy, and the black storm cloud hovering above his head thickened. Aelin resisted the urge to glance at Rowan as the air grew brisk and schooled her bewilderment into neutrality. "Of course. They are in the council tent I'm assuming?"

"No," Rowan growled, through clenched teeth. He gripped her arm.

"I don't believe I asked you for permission," Aelin purred, shaking him off. The guards Aedion stationed outside her tent, choked. She couldn't decide whether it was from amusement or sympathy.

These people Luca mentioned... they were unfamiliar to her. It was impossible to remember everyone she had been introduced no matter how much she tried, but if they had gotten Rowan into such a mood... well, she was in for a very interesting night. "Thank you for notifying me Luca. I will be with them shortly."

If Rowan had any hint of her power, his glower would have turned her into a human torch by now. Luca took one look at him and hastily muttered his leave before scuttling away.

"You scared him," she complained, turning to him. He was unmoved.

"You are not going."

Aelin cocked her head. "Is that a command, prince?"

His eyes tightened. _I do not want you to have to deal with them, Aelin._

She crossed her arms. _They can't be that bad. And besides_ , she winked _, I can take care of myself. You worry too much._

Rowan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My cousins are difficult."

She had to fight to keep from laughing. Is that it? Meeting his cousins? "Aedion is difficult," she said simply.

He made to protest, and scowled as Aelin flicked a nonchalant hand. "Honestly, I've been dealing with Aedion for years. You can't tell me they're worse than him."

Rowan narrowed his eyes, the pine greens of them intensifying in colour. "On the contrary–" Aelin placed a finger against his lips. They were absurdly soft. He froze, eyes flying wide and unblinking.

"Shush," she crooned. Aelin linked their arms and walked in the direction of the council tent. Rowan, surprisingly, did not resist as she pulled him along.

...

There were no guards in sight, and Aelin had no doubt the Fae princes had something to do with that. Even so, this only served to make Rowan's mood darker and she was beginning to think that maybe meeting his cousins may not be the brightest idea. But she was not about to run away now.

As if reading her thoughts, Rowan inched closer toward her, his hand brushing her lower back. She ducked into the tent. They all twisted to regard her. Three in all.

Three males from the most powerful family in Doranelle. Aelin would be lying to herself if she weren't concerned with their presence. They bristled with weapons, muscles seeming to have been carved from stone.

She narrowed her eyes as the black haired male traced the small replica of Erilea on the council table. He sat with a quiet sort of amusement as he stared at her. If Maeve sent them, Rowan's cousins or no, she would tear them apart with her bare hands.

Aelin's mouth twisted into a feral smile. She wondered if they could scent the violence in her blood, the boiling aggression threatening to overflow. Rowan certainly could if the way his fingers dug into her hip were any indication. _Simmer down, Fireheart._

She refused to look at him.

The brothers returned her careful perusal. They did not seem displeased, but neither did they smile. The male closest to her stood in a fluid, powerful motion. He eyed Rowan's hand on her hip. "Your Majesty," he said. "Let us extend our apologies for our–"

"I," Aelin said quietly, "do not answer to your summons like a common whore." Rowan's fingers tightened. She forcefully removed them one by one and placed his hand back at his side before striding toward the head of the table where the black haired male sat. _In her seat_ , Aelin seethed.

The male was otherworldly in arrogance and possessed a shrewdness Aelin had only ever seen in Maeve. The same prying eyes and knowing smile. He tipped his head up to look at her, pine green eyes so much like Rowan's. So much like Rowan's but not.

They were currently sparkling with mirth at the inferno dancing in her eyes. Fool. She would light his pyre first. "Do not address me as 'Your Majesty'," she said flatly. "You all clearly do not respect my title, nor treat me with the reverence suited for a queen."

He propped his head in a fist, tilting his head as if puzzled. "This one is not at all like the weakling at all." Rowan's answering growl ripped through the tent, and the male who had the decency to stand upon her arrival hissed.

"Brother–".

He held up a hand, mouth lifted into the slightest curve of a smile, and the one whom had protested fell silent. "Not a lowly flower girl either, cousin. Well done."

Lyria, Aelin realized. He was talking about Lyria. Rowan's fear and agony hit her like a punch to the gut and she could clearly see in her mind's eye the torn wounds of nearly three centuries of hurt and guilt and pain. A few carelessly tossed words.

The light in Rowan's eyes faded, his fists slackened.

No, they weren't careless. They were attentively crafted blows. An expert marksman knows his prey. How to strike the death blow and how to stun, how to cause unspeakable suffering.

Rowan's body was an overdrawn bow ready to snap and it took all of her effort keep him from lurching toward the Fae male. She threw out a hand, and though Rowan gritted his teeth straining against her order, he could do nothing but watch.

The male regarded them with his damning ice pine eyes, his brothers lurking in the background with their breaths held. _Lorayn_ and his brothers, Luca had said.

Aelin smiled pleasantly, placing a hand Lorayn's cheek. She willed her hands not to shake. How _dare_ he do this to her _carranam_. How _dare_ he come in here and think she would swallow these insults like a good girl.

"Lorayn," she murmured, stretching and familiarizing herself with the name. Aelin relished the flash of surprise in those cunning snake eyes before it faded into nothing.

"My reputation precedes me," he said, with a slight quirk of his lips. "'Tis fortunate you're exactly my type. Allow me to taste for myself, Terrasen's famed hospitality."

Rowan bared his teeth in a snarl and made to lunge as Lorayn reached to pull her down into his lap, but her carranam froze as Lorayn's scarred hands touched her throat curiously. "You are just a delicate little girl," he whispered. "What does my cousin see in you? He would give up prestige at the court of the most powerful queen in the world. He would give up his home. What makes you so special, human?"

"She's mine," Rowan said, his voice rumbling with the storm that was sure to come. His fists curled and uncurled at his sides as if imagining Lorayn's head between his hands.

His cousin sighed regretfully. "Is she _really_. I mean you'll have to forgive me if I was mistaken, cousin. The queen doesn't smell mated. I can be wrong about these things of course. But if I recall correctly, your mate is dead."

Rowan stilled. Aelin didn't even think he was breathing. Lorayn smiled cruelly, knowing his arrow had met it's mark. "Do you ever think maybe, Rowan–"

"He is blood sworn to me," Aelin barked. Lorayn's attention shifted to her. Just as she wanted it. Anything to keep Lorayn from making Rowan look like he just had the life sucked out of him. Anything to keep Rowan from looking like his heart had been just ripped from his chest. " _He_ is mine."

Lorayn's hand tightened on her neck. "Lorayn," Rowan said. He looked at her with such terror. _He wasn't supposed to–_

"Lorayn," the male behind Rowan murmured nervously. "If Callistani catches wind of this–"

"Shut up," Lorayn pronounced sharply. "She has nothing to do with this and _Calli dear,_ is late. As always."

Rowan snarled, but could do nothing as Lorayn gripped her throat. "Your sister will have your hide, Lorayn. Let Aelin go."

Lorayn chuckled darkly. "Calli has always favored you." He leaned forward, snake eyes slithering down her body like a physical thing. "You have such a pretty pet, Rowan." Rowan went white as Lorayn's thumb dipped into the hollow of her collarbone, pressing–hard. "But pets are so breakable aren't they, cousin. So fickle in their allegiances."

He grinned at her, canines flashing. "You give one a little attention and they come running." Aelin willed her body not to give in to the pulsing rage and smiled with all her teeth.

"A pet with teeth and claws, prince," she purred. "As Rowan has learnt already." Aelin palmed the needle-like blade strapped to the back of her forearm. She knew Lorayn could feel the sting of cool metal against the tender skin behind his jaw. He froze as Aelin let the dagger glide up and rest at the tip of his ice pine eyes.

One of his brothers released a soft snarl.

Aelin tapped the flat of the small blade against his too pretty face and slid the cool metal softly against his skin like a lover's caress. "You will find Terrasen's hospitality is plenty accommodating," she purred, letting the dagger glide down to his exposed throat. "If a whore is what you want, I shall send to you my cousin and his friends. You will have fun with them, I'm sure." She brought her lips to his ear. "You can _spar_ all night."

Lorayn barked a laugh, mindful of her dagger as his throat bobbed. "Nicely played, my lady. Truly silver-tongued."

Aelin smiled mirthlessly, drawing back and sheathing the blade. "Silver? No, my tongue is made of gold, prince. Now get out of my seat."

He made a show of looking at the seat, back at her, then his brothers. Aelin kept her spine straight, chin lifted high. "My apologies," he said at last. Lorayn stood and gave a mocking bow. "Allow me to start over–"

"No," Rowan growled. "You will not, because you have ten seconds before heads start rolling. Tell Calli our agreement is over." He angled his daggers toward Lorayn. "You dare come into our camp under white flag and threaten the queen–"

Lorayn barely spared him a glance. "Rowan, cousin, please." He gave her a feral grin, canines gleaming. "I–"

"I," Aelin interrupted, "have heard enough from you." She pointed to another seat. "Sit your ass down and shut up." Rowan sucked in a quiet breath. _Aelin..._

The shadows in the corner chuckled. "She plays your game well, Lorayn." The third brother reclined against a chest in the corner, face cast in shadow. Aelin caught the gleam of silver hair and golden skin as he tilted his head, the fluid planes of his face shifting.

Lorayn did not appreciate the connection made, and the raw frost of his fury chilled her to the bone. The male whom had greeted her, rounded the table. "For once in your life, Lorayn, _listen_. I swear everyone who ever had the pleasure of meeting you wants you dead."

He sat his brother down, and glanced up."Your Majesty, I am Gaudal." He pinned Lorayn to the chair easily. "And my brother, Eitan, is in the corner hiding. Lorayn is adopted."

"How dare–" Gaudal clamped a hand over Lorayn's mouth and hissed something Aelin couldn't catch.

"I am not hiding," came the muffled voice. "These chocolates are exquisite." He appeared atop the council table cross-legged.

"Eitan," Rowan snapped, "get off the table. You are going to ruin the maps."

Aelin squinted. "That is my chocolate you're eating."

Eitan winked and popped the last one in his mouth. "Ooh," he mumbled around a full mouth. "So good."

"You can strangle him if you like," Gaudal offered. "I won't be missing him."

"Don't mind me, if I take you up on that proposal," Aelin said, her voice as dry as the wind in the Red Desert.

He smacked Lorayn upside the head. "You should have killed this one too." Lorayn strained against Gaudal's arm, face flashing murder.

Aelin watched. "Does he always act like a wild beast?"

"It's not an act," Rowan muttered. "His mother dropped him as a child."

Varying degrees of surprise appeared on their too perfect faces. "Rowan, baby cousin," Gaudal said slowly, "did you just make a joke?"

Rowan tensed, harsh features twisting with disgust. "I am _not_ a baby, and it is the truth."

Lorayn, taking advantage of his brother's distraction, shifted with a burst of white light and–

"What is going on here?" a feminine voice inquired.

Eitan shifted also, a white raven taking flight. Gaudal merely straightened. _Did he have a form?_ "Sister," they acknowledged.

Aelin was loath to turn her back to Lorayn, but she twisted to greet the newcomer. A sleek-furred black panther prowled forward to sit by the female's feet, folding in powerful paws. Ice pine eyes glared balefully at her.

Aelin eyed Lorayn, lips twitching in a smirk, then lifted her gaze to the female. Callistani regarded her warmly, inclining her head, before shifting her silvery-grey eyes to Rowan. Her heart hollowed out. In the right light, they could be the glistening grey of Arobynn's eyes.

"Cousin," the female said. "It is wonderful to see you again. It has been too long."

Rowan shifted uncomfortably beside her. "Calli, why are you here?" He glanced once, quickly, at Aelin and she carefully concealed her expression. _Another one?_

"Did that half-breed not tell you?" Those magnificent eyes blinked once.

"The _demi-Fae_ you are referring to is called _Luca_ , Highness," Aelin emphasized.

She turned to her. "My apologies, Your Majesty." Calli did not sound all that apologetic, but she was Fae, and Aelin could never tell with the Fae. "I would have thought _Rowan_ would notify you," she paused to glare at Rowan. "We are joining forces."

Aelin raised a groomed brow, fingers tightening on Rowan's hand. _What did you do, Rowan?_ "Are we now?"

The female was not fazed at the rebuff. "Doranelle has needed a new queen for a while. Many of the Fae do not agree with her… methods and considering you have the support of most of the demi-Fae…" Calli smiled. Aelin pressed her lips as shivers skittered down her spine. "We can help each other, you and I."

"In other words you want to rule Doranelle," she said bluntly. Lorayn yawned, showing off incisors as long as her pinkie. Rowan gripped her arm. _Careful..._

Her smile widened. "I do indeed. Rowan trusts you implicitly and since we'll be all family soon enough–"

"What do you mean," Aelin cut in, "'we'll all be family?'" Rowan muscles bunched under her grip.

The Fae princess glanced at Rowan, exasperated. "Never mind that then. Rowan is just slow to react. To many things it seems." Gaudal choked.

Rowan growled. "Callistani. Just stop talking."

She rolled her silver eyes at him and focused on Aelin. "Well? Do you agree Aelin Galathynius?"

Aelin crossed her arms. "Your warriors will not mesh well with our soldiers, and your brothers are nuisances."

Eitan let out an offended snort and the princess shot him a warning look. _Gods he was quiet. When had he shifted back?_ "My brothers and our forces will be under Rowan's command, if that is acceptable to you."

Lorayn surged to his paws. Gaudal started forward. "Calli, you–"

"It is done," Calli commanded severely.

Gaudal glowered at Eitan. "You knew this," he accused.

Eitan brushed back his silver hair. "I pay attention."

Aelin glanced Rowan incredulously. _You agreed to this? After what they just did? It's going to be a catastrophe._

His shoulders tightened in a helpless shrug. _We need them Aelin. They are willing to work against Maeve. That kind of rebellion is rare among the Fae._

As if reading their thoughts, Calli spoke up, a cool smile gracing her lips. "You will have no trouble with any of us. You are not the only one who wants Maeve buried ten feet under."

Aelin didn't return her smile. "There may be no corpse for you to bury after this war." She spread her fingers, a flame dancing on her palm.

The princess' grin only grew, white teeth glinting ominously against the light of the flame. "I was hoping you would say that." She walked forward and reached out with her hand. "Do we have an agreement, Aelin Galathynius of Terrasen?"

She stared at that outstretched hand and clasped it with her own. "Let's hope I don't regret this."

Callistani smirked. "Believe me. You won't."

* * *

So I hope you enjoyed!

I had so much fun writing it *whispers* especially the dialogue between Lorayn and Aelin ;) If you liked it _please vote_ and comment. It would mean so much! And thank you so much for reading! I love you guys :3

All the links are on my tumblr post here: wishingonthenorthstar.(tumblr) post/127423988890/family

and because tumblr is weird and won't let me post links there is suppose to be a **period** then a **com** then a **slash** after the word tumblr. Ignore the parenthesis around the tumblr as well. Ughh ok


	15. Chapter 15

**ToG Secret Santa gift for Cat ( faeylin)**

She had stopped shivering ages ago.

Barely moving in fact, save for the slightest rise and fall of her small chest. But even that had slowed to such miniscule proportions that she could have been mistaken for dead. Her thoughts were dull– smeared with pale skies and white. Everything was so white and there was such nothingness in her head and–

She was just so unbelievably tired.

The girl knew what was coming. The animal instinct she had relied on since she was in a cradle was gone, ripped away from her like any semblance of justice in the world, but she knew enough to recognize the signs. The stiffness, the lack of pain. Dying, she mused. Wasn't as bad as what she thought it would be.

On Yulemas, however. A shame, that's was it was. She would have like to survive just one more day. To steal a nice warm cookie from the bakery across from the piss-smelling alley she called home. Ohhh or the chocolatier a block away.

The girl closed her eyes and wet her lips, surprised that she could still be capable of such wanting. After all, she was dying. She supposed her last thoughts should be of something other than herself. Perhaps world peace–for someone to save Erilea but that bastard King, unlikely as it is.

However, she couldn't help but be selfish. For once in her life free from discovery.

Free? She couldn't help the quivering laugh that bubbled up from her throat. A foreign word for a shapeshifter. But there were worse things to be. Much worse positions to be in.

A shadow fell across her face, a pair of expensive looking leather boots striding into her line of vision. She let her eyes slip shut, exhaling a soft sigh. Money will hardly help her now. _Go away and let this girl die in peace_.

A low chuckle. "Clarisse should like her for a Yulemas gift, I believe." Shuffling footsteps and a grunt as a second man joined the first.

"Skinny as a stripped branch and lips as blue as Celaena's eyes," the man observed. "She doesn't look like the girls Clarisse usually has a use for."

The snow crunched as the first man crouched beside her. She kept herself as still as she could, her senses screaming at her to run– to hide from the predator lurking within the man but could only shudder weakly.

Gloved fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face up. Her head fell back, slumping into the uneven stone wall behind her. Pain was a dull thing as she stared blankly at the lord's starlit eyes. _Wow_ , was all she could think as those silver eyes pinned her to the stone.

He was silhouetted against the light gray sky, face in shadow, the avenging hand of death.

She could hear the amusement in the lord's voice as he traced the curve of her cheekbone. "She has perfect skin and her hair is exquisite. The girl cringed inwardly as the man took inky strand and wrapped it around his fingers. "She will have to be enough."

"Is this to placate Clarisse after you refused to give her Celaena last month?" said the man incredulously.

The girl whimpered briefly, the world rolling in ways she was sure it wasn't supposed to as the lord lifted her into his arms.

"Celaena's brand of beauty is the glint of a serrated knife. She draws men in with her radiance, tears them apart and bathes in their blood. This one… she's a clean, tidy thing. A sharpened dagger. She will do well with Clarisse."

A part of her sparked in annoyance from being addressed as a thing, but her fear eclipsed everything else as the lord's attention came back to her. She flinched violently away from his stare, toppling out of arms. The last thing she saw before the darkness came for her was the lord's hair, spilling across his face like fresh blood.

…

She woke to the murmuring of soft voices. Several pairs of hands drifted over her body, yanking and prodding. The animal in her snarled at the foreign touch and the girl hissed, lashing out with her nails. The hiss trailed into a whimper as bindings dug into her sore wrists.

The three serving maids beside her bed bowed their heads. "Mistress."

The girl stilled for a moment. Were they addressing her? But no, a woman strode into sight, the pearls in her ears, draping over her collarbone glowing in the light of the scones.

She was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. But the girl had learned long ago that the most beautiful creatures were often the most venomous. As if to reinforce that image, the woman smiled, all white teeth and sparkling charm.

The wicked lord with the silver eyes was behind her. "So? What do you think Clarisse? Does she meet your expectations?"

The woman dimpled, simpering for the benefit of her male companion. "Does my brand not tell you enough about my satisfaction, Arobynn?" she purred. The woman's eyes swept over her body and the girl was uncomfortably aware she was naked beneath the sheets. And the brothel tattoos that freshly adorned her wrists.

"She's a gem isn't she," the lord– _Arobynn_ murmured.

Clarissa smiled and there was nothing friendly in it, only the dark amusement of a predator who knew her success was imminent.

" _Lysandra_ will do."

Lysandra opened her mouth and began to scream. Even so, she was painfully aware no one was coming for her.

No one.

Arobynn approached the bed and Lysandra could do nothing as he slammed the hilt of a dagger into her neck. "Merry Yulemas, Lysandra," he whispered.

Lysandra fell into the darkness.

…

They knew not to draw blood.

Faceless servants gripped her arms as she clung to the back of an ornate chair with white knuckles. Her nails cracked, digging half-moons into the lacquered wood. Lysandra bowed her head but focused on maintaining steady breaths, pushing back the sting of salt pressing against her eyes. Clarisse will never see her cry. Not like this. She will never give her this.

Lysandra lost track of time as her consciousness wavered with each slap of the beating stick. Clarisse lined up the little ones in the private parlor. They were quiet. Frost crept up her heart. "How _dare_ you run?" Clarisse snarled, her usual composed facade ripped away for the seething monster in front of her.

" _Traitor_. Do you know how much was spent on you? Do you know how many strings were pulled? And you leave?" Clarisse thrust her arm out to encompass the room. "Skipping along as if you have no care in the world? Who do you think you are?"

Lysandra tasted blood as the cane came down again. And again. And again. The world wavered.

She desperately hoped the new acolytes were not in the audience, but knowing Clarisse, she had most likely placed them in the front row. _This is what becomes of runaways_.

The madame stooped, cool, dry hands yanking her chin awkwardly to the side. "You are nothing but a _whore_ , Lysandra. Know your place." And despite herself, tears squeezed out as Clarisse pulled her up roughly by the hair. The decorative pins Lysandra had painstakingly tucked in hours before clinked to the marble.

Clarisse let out a hiss of disgust and release her. "You're more trouble than you're worth."

Lysandra slumped to the floor. Distantly, she heard Clarisse commanding the servants to continue. She was vaguely aware of Lolita protesting on her behalf but she was quickly hushed.

"Oh, and _Lysandra_ ," Clarisse called out, behind her. "Merry Yulemas."

…

Lysandra giggled as Arobynn ran a hand through her hair. "I've always loved your hair," he murmured. He tugged, not enough to cause discomfort, but rather a soft prickle. She purred, stretching out beside him. If he loved her starry dark, he adored Celaena's spun gold. After all what was the moon to compare to the sun?

But the sun was gone into the dark and here in the moonlight with its satin caresses, soft candlelight and midnight jasmine, she was the one ruler of his heart.

As much as she could be a ruler of anything anyway.

Her fingers brushed Arobynn's cheek and he smiled, the light of it never reaching his eyes. "Do you miss her?" he whispered.

Lysandra froze, hand fisting into the hair at the nape of his neck. In the dark, it was rust, the dried blood of his enemies. It coated her skin, tangled between her fingers. _Wesley._

"No more than you do," she said eventually.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Things are changing. I can feel it. The wind has shifted and it's in our favour."

 _Ours_? Lysandra wanted to demand. _Or yours_?

"A certain assassin is coming back," Arobynn hummed. It was easy to see the triumph in his silver eyes.

He mistook her silence for discontent. "You will be by my side of course," he was quick to add. "I know you and Celaena were never best friends, but I will need you to put on a little show for our friend."

"Of course," she murmured.

"I bought you a gift," he continued. Arobynn dangled the necklace between them.

Lysandra cooed over the gem but knew it was hardly necessary. His mind was on a golden girl blocks away in a shining glass castle.

"Merry Yulemas, Lysandra."

…

"It's not like you to sulk in a corner," a familiar voice drawled.

Lysandra glanced up from the swirling red of her wine. "Don't you have ambassadors to greet and treaties to negotiate?"

Aelin listed her head, the fairy lights strung over the ballroom giving her gold hair an ethereal glow and sending her eyes sparkling.

Lysandra's heart clenched. For all Aelin light-heartedly complained about Lysandra's beauty, the lady could not help but think she lacked Aelin's presence. Her ability to capture not only the attention but the hearts and loyalty of people.

"Why isn't Evangeline keeping you company?"

Lysandra gestured wearily to outskirt of the circle of dancers. "She's off terrorizing Sol's boys most likely."

Aelin smirked and slouched to join her on the chaise. Evangeline's periwinkle gown was easily distinguishable among the bright colours. "Breaking hearts already? Good _girl_."

"Don't encourage her," she warned. "Evangeline is enough of a handful already."

The queen merely breathed a laugh. "Evangeline is having fun. However you look like you can't wait to get smashed." Aelin nodded toward Lysandra's wine glass.

Lysandra's lips twitched. "Yulemases don't hold good memories for me."

Aelin sat back. "I see," she murmured. "I guess you won't want the presents I left in your room."

She whipped to face the queen. "I swear if you take away my chocolates…"

Aelin raised an eyebrow. "I would hardly get between you and your love of chocolate."

"Oh good," Lysandra breathed. "How would I survive otherwise." They shared a soft chuckle.

"Speaking of love," Aelin said, nodding toward the alcove beside the balcony. Lysandra squinted and could just barely make out the shape of… was that Chaol… and Dorian?

She whistled. "Can't say I didn't see that coming. When did you–"

"They were doing something steamy in one of my training rooms," Aelin said dryly. "I told them to get a room, so Dorian did something with his hand I rather not imitate and said that this was a good a room as any and proceeded to kick me out."

Lysandra bit her lip, stifling a smile. "Dorian did not."

"He did too and was rather huffy about the interruption."

"Didn't Chaol have anything to add?"

"He didn't look like he was going to be capable of saying anything for a while after what Dorian did to him," the queen cackled and wiggled her eyebrows. "Dorian's skilled."

Lysandra shook her head and groaned. "You– ugh–Gods, Aelin. You're so bad."

Her turquoise eyes widened innocently. "I'm just saying how it is." But Aelin quickly turned somber. "They deserve this happiness, after what they went through. _You_ deserve happiness, Lysandra. Don't allow the demons of the past to dictate what happens in the future." She squeezed her shoulder lightly. "Make new memories. Good ones. One for every moment you despised."

Aelin looked up thoughtfully and her expression became sly. "In fact." She darted in, Lysandra yelping, as a pair of warm lips touched her cheek. They lingered, Aelin huffing a laugh onto her skin as she pointed upwards.

A bushel of mistletoe.

"Merry Yulemas, Lysandra."


	16. Chapter 16

**Some Chaorian angst for the soul. Requested by Michelle ( pxrscphone) for Christmas.**

Chaol braced his practice sword against Dorian's with a grunt. It had only been five minutes, but already his legs were burning with the strain of keeping him upright. He refused to look at his cane resting against the back wall. _Refused_.

Because if he couldn't even keep up with his friend during one bout in the ring, how could Chaol ever stay at his side–protect him again?

Dorian nudged him back a step with maddening ease. "You're brooding again," he observed. "That's never a good sign." He drew away as if to disengage and Chaol lunged forward. The wooden swords clashed and Chaol gritted his teeth, eyes shining in triumph, as Dorian was forced to push back against his assault.

The king raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. Weeks of training with Rowan had increased Dorian's stamina. Dorian whirled, feinted, step-sided, entirely in his element. Rowan promised to train him for the battlefield and now Chaol was facing a soldier.

Too good of a soldier, Chaol thought, grimacing, as Dorian pivoted and knocked his foot into the back of his knee. Chaol stumbled, his legs uncooperative as he attempted to widen his stance.

There was a moment of weightlessness before gravity caught up to him. Chaol flailed wildly, his heart rising to his throat. _His legs_.

It wasn't that he was afraid of the pain that will come, the sickening crack of bone, or tearing of muscle. In fact, Chaol welcomed it. Pain was real, pain was honest. There was truth in pain. It was numbness that deceived. It was a vulnerability and it completely petrified him. For someone who once had everything and could now do nothing.

It was a long way to fall.

The falling. He had never feared heights, even as a child, but now he would sometimes jolt awake at night, a scream caught in his throat. A distant, hazy memory of tumbling through the air. Flashes of gold and black and crystal starlight that blinded him. The wind screaming Aelin's name. For in that moment, even the Gods favoured the golden princess. Queen.

But Chaol thought only of his King.

His hand closed around soft cotton, lean muscle curving around his body before impact. All breath was driven from his lungs. Chaol lay there on something warm and hard, and decidedly not marble.

When he finally was able to get air into his lungs, Chaol croaked, "Dorian?"

The king was still beneath Chaol's weight and– _gods_ , he must be crushing him. Not trusting his legs, Chaol rolled off to the side. "Dorian?"

Dorian's eyes were closed–peaceful, Chaol realized. The perpetual frown around his eyes eased, lips curved into something akin to a smile. There hadn't been a reason for merriment for a while.

"You've gotten soft, captain," Dorian murmured. "And fat."

Chaol spluttered. "Who are you calling fat, you book loving worm?"

Dorian opened an eye, arm reaching out to grope for his waist. Chaol yelped in an undignified manner as Dorian pinched. "You were being lazy," Dorian chided, "sitting in your chair sulking." He gave him a look as Chaol glared. "Don't you deny it, Nesryn told me all about your childish tantrums in Antica."

"I won't admit to anything," Chaol said.

He tilted his head. "You are Dorian Havilliard's right hand. What can the Lord Chaol Westfall worry about besides this war?"

"Rowan turned you into a soldier," was all Chaol said.

"I am what the people need me to be," the king said. "I ride at the head of armies because I have a power that can save lives. I am needed," he said, "because for once Adarlan is not seen as the enemy, and I am glad for this change. And if I have to give my life for this cause I will readily do it because this world needs a better future and I refuse to be written in history as the son of a tyrant."

"I will not allow you to go to war without me. Promise me, Dorian. Your life is not your right to give up until I am gone."

"I will not let you follow me into battle to throw your life away for me so you can fulfill some twisted sense of loyalty," Dorian seethed, blue eyes sudden oh so close to his own. The temperature dropped sharply, Chaol's breath misting. "Yrene will be the judge of your condition when time comes–"

Chaol could not help the bitterness that tightened his throat. "You know that Yrene is loyal to Aelin. And if you give Aelin the slightest hint that I am not ready, Yrene will not go against the queen's orders. Aelin already thinks I'm a liability, you can't think that–"

Dorian looked away, and a red-hot knife twisted in Chaol's heart. "It's because I'm human," he spoke through the rock in his throat, "and powerless and you all believe I'm weak and an invalid."

Dorian's eyes snapped back to him. "You were never weak," he said fervently. "You– Gods, Chaol. You are one of the strongest people I know. But I can't lose you too. Anyone but you. You are where I draw the line."

Chaol shook his head wordlessly, jaw working.

"It is selfish," Dorian continued, "so unbelievably selfish, to ask for something I cannot give you, for what do I have that I would withhold from you? It is selfish for you do this to me because if you are gone, how do you expect me to live with half my soul gone– my heart ripped away?"

"I expect you to live," Chaol whispered. "For you have always been strong and a worthy king." He blinked furiously, tears– when had he become such a godsdamned sap– burning the back of his eyes.

"I will not be able to," Dorian said hoarsely. "How would I– I cannot imagine a world without you in it for that is not a world I would want to exist in."

Chaol shut his eyes as he tilted his head up, groaning because, "That's not fair–"

"Life isn't fair," Dorian said in a low voice. "In a fair world I would have gotten a loving mother, a doting father. Peace. A world where one does not need to fight everyday to survive. But life gave me you… and I will _always_ be thankful for that."

"In a million lifetimes, a million universes, I would find you whether you be my father, brother, friend or lover. I will find you and know you and love you as fiercely as I do now because you are in every part of my soul."

Chaol bit his mouth hard enough, he tasted blood. What could he say?

"I've shocked Lord Westfall speechless," Dorian teased, an undercurrent of uncertainty coating his tone. "What an accomplishment."

Chaol swallowed, the sound strangely loud in the ringing silence.

"Lover?" he asked and immediately wanted to smack himself because of course his stupid brain would fixate on _that_.

Dorian's lips quirked.

"If you always give your women such rousing speeches no wonder they fall for you left and right," Chaol managed to say.

The king leaned in, smile spreading. "Only you Chaol, only you."


End file.
